The 150th Hunger Games: Make Your Own Characters
by Chocolatiee
Summary: The sixth Quarter Quell: who will survive? Who will find the hidden Cornucopia? The Games have officially begun! Happy Hunger Games!
1. List of Tributes

**Thanks to everyone who submitted their characters to be put into these games. This is the final list, and the first and second reapings will be posted tomorrow.**

**Also, I am sorry if you did not get the district you wanted. I had to move people around for different reasons each, but I tried to include everyone who submitted. **

**& Remember, it's the Quarter Quell. The Cornucopia will be hidden. **

**The reapings will be posted soon (:**

**District One:**

Keith Marble

Tiffany Mercades

**District Two: **

Marina Ricketts

Trafford Ahava

**District Three:**

Cheyenne Wells

Connor Foxx

**District Four: **

Ariel Peffer

Alexander Willis

**District Five:**

Ebony Storm

Odyss Fairmount

**District Six: **

Nikole Ratestrum

Liam Holloway

**District Seven: **

Ryli Smith

Bridger Henderson

**District Eight: **

Mara Davies

Robert Lark

**District Nine: **

Bambi Schnoonheid

Nicholas Parks

**District Ten: **

Victoria Henson

Zed Pyke

**District Eleven:**

Violet Crouse

Trawny Heightson

**District Twelve: **

Caitlin Gish

Krow Haliss


	2. District One Reaping

**I'm going to try and get through these reapings fast, so I'll post District One and Two right now, and then maybe a couple over the weekend. **

**Then I can get into the interviews and all that good stuff. **

**Tiffany Mercades's POV**

I'm talking with Abigail when the escort calls my name. We're debating whose dress is prettier, and so far I'm sure I'm winning. The red velvet of mine is so much nicer than her blue, unknown fabric, and as I run my fingers along my dress's soft material and motion for her to do the same, she nudges me in the ribs.

So I nudge her back, rolling my eyes. Some people are such sore losers.

But then she nudges me again, and gestures to the stage where the escort is standing. He's in a suit with a diamond-decorated tie, his hair dyed white, and staring confusedly out into the crowd as if he's looking for someone. "Tiffany Mercades?" he says into the microphone.

I blink and realize he's calling me. So I walk through the crowd, it doesn't take much to make them move out of my way, and towards the stage and the escort with white hair. As he sees me coming he smiles, and I plaster on a fake smile back, mostly for the cameras.

Once I'm on the stage I look out at the crowd for potential careers. Really, there are none this year, when just a few years back we had people _fighting_ for the place to compete. To be in my position, right now. There's been a shortage on diamonds in the mines, though—we haven't really hit a jackpot in a while, and most peoples' wealth has decreased.

"Any volunteers?" the escort asks. Nobody steps up to the plate, and I keep my fake smile on for the cameras. Have to look confident, if anything.

Next, he pulls out a guy's name. _"Bobby Deerborn!"_

A large Eighteen in the back begins to make his way through the crowd, but before he can even push through the next line of kids someone's hand goes up and they yell out loudly, "I VOLUNTEER."

I recognize this guy from school. The shoulder-length blond hair and green eyes. Keith Granite, or something. His last name is some kind of rock is all I really know. Which suits him, because his muscles bulge out from underneath his brown shirt, and when he walks people part faster than they did for me. The look on his face is truly terrifying—I bet he already knows which way to kill me to best get the Capitol audience cheering for him. There is no way I'm going to beat him.

"Oh! Oh my! We have a volunteer!" the escort says excitedly. He's either new or really likes to overplay the whole enthusiasm thing. Or both. "Wonderful!"

When the escort shakes my hand, I notice his skin is snow white and is so stretched out and wrinkly it looks and feels like leather. Other than that, though, he appears just about as old as my father—thirty-five, or around there. He shakes Keith's hand, too, but Keith barely acknowledges him; he just stares at the crowd with this deadly look on his face.

Once we're in the Justice Building I let my smile fade, but I don't let Keith see this by always glancing in the opposite direction as him. As I sit down in a chair in the back corner, my mom and dad run into the room. My mom pulls me into a hug, and my dad stands near us patiently waiting. After both of them are done, my dad says, "You'll do great."

I doubt it. I may be pretty clever, but my skills with weapons aren't very high. Especially not as high as people like Keith's.

On the other hand, it's the Quarter Quell. The Cornucopia will be hidden this year, which includes all the food and weapons and everything, so if I'm able to get sponsors and possibly find the Cornucopia first...

I warily look at the other tribute out of the corner of my eye, and see him talking to an old man while a man and a woman watch on. I turn back to my parents. "I'll try," I promise, because that's all I can do.

"Good!" My mom claps once, like we've reached a decision, but only half-heartedly. Right now I can really see the worry in her blue eyes. The same blue eyes I have.

I wonder if I'll ever see her again.

We manage to get in a big group hug before the Peacekeepers inform them it's time for them to leave. I walk them the few steps it takes to the large, oak door and wave to them as they travel down the hallway behind it. I wave and wave until the doors close finally, and then sit back down in my chair and sigh.

My dress is obviously the best. It's too bad I'll never get to wear it again.

* * *

**Keith Marble's POV**

I get in a few hours of slicing up the dummies with different kinds of blades and throwing javelins at them before we have to leave for the square. By then, the dummies are all wrecked and falling apart, stuffing all over the ground beneath them. This is a rough example of what the other tributes will look like once I've gotten through with them.

We walk to the square, my parents, my grandfather and I, and he talks to me about the Quarter Quell. They announced the Cornucopia would be hidden this year. It's not to my advantage, but it isn't to my disadvantage either, as I'm very good in wrestling and hand-to-hand combats. I could kill someone without a weapon, and survive for days without food or water. I'm sure of it.

But I'll be the first to find all the weapons and food, so it's not like that matters.

"Back in my day," my grandpa goes on, "without weapons you would be dead in a second."

Grandfather isn't that old. He won the games when he was eighteen, then got married and had my mom. That was probably somewhere in the ninetieth Hunger Games. "You needed real skill," he informs me. My parents don't say anything while we walk. They never say much, especially when Grandfather is around. But that's completely fine with me.

We reach the square and he's throwing his arms around wildly, trying to elaborate his point that having weapons was very important and taking the Cornucopia away, including the bloodbath, was a big mistake on the Gamemakers part. Half of the Capitol might not watch now.

I'm not as worried. Trust me; there will be a _big_ bloodbath at the beginning of the games, as long as I'm there. Even if I don't have a sword.

I take a seat with the other Fifteens, sitting by myself. I have some friends, yeah, but I don't want them screwing anything up for me right now. Today is my day, and nobody is going to take that from me.

The mayor is a woman wearing black pants and a black shirt, with a tight bun in her hair, and she goes on for a while about the Capitol, genuinely wasting my time. I imagine her as one of the dummies I cut up with the blades the size of my arm and automatically feel better.

The escort comes on stage, now, as the mayor goes off to the side. He has white hair, but looks young from back in the Fifteens section, so I can't tell how old he might be. "I'm Sampson. And I am certain that this year," he says, "will be a wonderful year for District One! Do you agree?" People around me scream. I stay silent and reserved.

At last, he goes to the big glass bowls. First he picks out the girl's name, Tiffany something or other, but nobody goes to the stage. He says her name two more times, and, finally, on the second time the girl reveals herself and walks to the stage with a weird smile on her face. She has brown hair and is a little chubby around the edges—probably has a low metabolism. Strangely, nobody volunteers for her, and so the escort picks someone from the boys' bowl.

"_Bobby Deerborn!_"

I don't know who that is, and frankly I don't give a shit. I don't even wait for this Bobby guy to move, wherever he is in the crowd. I stick my hand up and cry out that I'd like to volunteer. Not waiting for the escort to respond, I shove through the crowd. They get the message, eventually, and start parting quicker for me to pass. Wise of them.

We go through the technicalities: I shake the escort's hand, but never take my eyes off the cameras and the crowd. Then me and the Tiffany girl are lead into the Justice Building. I can see it in her—she looks vulnerable. Not only will I not be allying with her, but she will be one of the first on my list to kill.

I say goodbye to my grandfather even though I'll be back soon, and give my parents a curt nod. They all leave me with the Tiffany girl, who seems to be admiring the velvet of her dress. This puts her higher on my People to Kill list.

Seriously. I don't know why everyone else even bothers to try.

**Think they have potential? Let me know! Review!! (:**


	3. District Two Reaping

**Marina Ricketts's POV**

Dad says that this is my year. My year to shine. My year to pummel the rest of the tributes in the games to a pulp, while the rest of Panem watches and cheers my name. _Marina, Marina, Marina..._

His words, not mine.

To be honest, I don't think this is my year. I've seen some of the other people planning on volunteering at school—they take this competition very seriously; maybe even more seriously than my dad does. There's that one kid, Trafford, who's pretty buff. Buffer than me, anyways. But, then again, that's not saying a lot.

I'm strong and everything. I just don't make people shake in their boots when I walk past them, like some other careers do, like I _should_.

And as the mayor goes on with his speech, how Panem rose out of ashes, about that treaty thingie, and how the Capitol rules, rah rah rah, I catch a sight of some of these other careers. There's that Mary chick from school one row behind me, in the Sixteens, looking very intimidating with a white shirt with the sleeves torn off and ripped up pants. I wonder what my dad was thinking, even bothering to train me.

The escort is invited onto the stage. His unnatural yellow skin matches his luminous yellow hair, and I wince at the brightness of it all. Some of these people from the Capitol just look stupid.

"Ladies first," he says after a few cheesy sayings. _May the odds be _ever_ in your favour!_ He sticks his hand into the big glass bowl which only contains my name once. No terrasae for me. He digs around between the slips of paper for a bit, and only when the crowd grows impatient does he pick one and read off the name. "_Mary Leightermeyer!"_ he calls.

Mary pushes through me and the other Fifteens with a huge smirk on her face, occasionally glaring at a few of the girls who might want to volunteer, like a warning. She's stepping onto the stage when the escort asks for volunteers.

I can see my dad's hopeful face in my mind. _This is your year, Marina. You can do it. _If I don't volunteer right now, I don't even want to imagine the reaction I'll get at home. It'll be full of not only anger, but mainly disappointment and sadness, probably thinking that his daughter doesn't want to follow in his footsteps and win the games. Especially since this year is the Quarter Quell...

Oh, what the heck?

"I volunteer!" I yell, and raise my hand in the air. Mary gives me such a dirty look it's kind of scary, but I just ignore her and keep my eyes set on the escort's bright yellow hair. It hurts my eyes, but I'd rather look at that than at Mary's clenched teeth.

When I face the crowd, I see my dad in the back. He's smiling. Ear-to-ear. So I smile back, long enough for the cameras to catch it, and then slowly let the corners of my mouth drop back into a firm, serious expression. I don't want the other tributes thinking I'll drop out too easily. My mom, standing beside my dad, has a slightly worried look on her face—the same as my little brother, who's standing in the Twelves section right at the front.

I can win, I tell myself. This is my year.

***

I get four visitors: My mom, my dad and my brother, and a friend from school. Leila tells me that the careers from District One aren't so bad, and they're usually the real competition, so not to worry. Then we hug and she leaves, waving as the Peacekeepers shut the door behind her and let my family in.

My brother hugs me, and I hug him back, but I can't let this get to me. I'll be coming back, there's no doubt in my mind.

All right, there's some. But that's only a small bit.

"You'll do great," my mom tells me. She hugs me and I feel a little better. How could I not come back home to this?

"You'll beat 'em," my dad says. "It's the Quarter Quell. Just make allies with the right people and you're a shoo-in to win."

I don't mention that the Gamemakers have planned a very interesting Hunger Games. I don't bring up that the Cornucopia will be hidden this year, somewhere deep within the arena—wherever that may be. And I don't remind him I'm not that great at fighting people without a blade in my hand. I just hug him and say, "I know," before the Peacekeepers guide my family out.

When they're gone is the only time I allow myself to look at the other side of the room Trafford and I've been placed in. He's refused visitors, it seems, because nobody's come to see him off. I think about waving to him or something, because he looks kind of lonely, but go against it at the last minute when he catches me staring at him and, awkwardly, my eyes go immediately to my shiny silver shoes.

* * *

**Trafford Ahava's POV**

I volunteer, of course. I just have to be very patient, because the mayor blabs for a while, and then the escort with weird hair says the whole, overly enthusiastic Happy Hunger Games stuff. My friends look just about as bored as me, yawning occasionally and halfway through Donny begins to snore and drool. None of us care to wake him up.

Mary, who gets called, is a masculine-looking girl from school and glares at everyone she passes on her way to the stage. At least one person is unfazed by her manly ways, though, because someone else volunteers. I've seen this girl at school before, but I don't know her name. Her straw-coloured hair just looks familiar. She walks to the front with a big smile on her face, but then gets very serious and looks like she's already plotting ways to kill everyone else.

Some twelve year old from the front is walking to the stage, now, after his name has been said, and I volunteer before the escort even asks. I chose to smile the whole way, even when the cameras are on me and flashing in my face and I'm sure I'm going to go blind. Then I shake the escort's hand, his bony yellow hand wraps around mine for just about a second, and then releases quickly when the Peacekeepers come and lead me and the girl into the Justice Building.

I refuse visitors. I'd like to see my family again, but that could cause me too much weakness in the days to come. I want to see them how I last saw them—at the breakfast table, all eating together like a big happy family, and not as I would see my mother if she came, weeping and sobbing into my dad's shirt. My dad would put on a brave face, tell me I could win it, but not really believe it.

The girl beside me with the straw-coloured hair has a few visitors: What looks to be her parents and little brother, and another girl I recognize faintly from school. Once they leave we sit alone in the room, waiting for the Peacekeepers to come and drag us onto the train that will take us to the Capitol.

I catch her staring at me, but she looks away, embarrassed.

I may as well get a head-start on the games now. "Allies?"

She doesn't look too weak. There's some upper body strength and she has small feet; she's probably good with a knife, able to run fast, maybe climb up trees. That will be useful.

"Sure," she says casually.

Smiling, I lean back in my chair and say nothing else. I'd make more conversation and all, except I still don't remember her name.

**Annnnnd there goes the District Two tributes. If you were the Capitol, would you be sponsoring them? Review?**


	4. District Three Reaping

**Cheyenne Wells's POV**

My family has a pretty infamous reputation. It's simple, actually: They die.

They get chosen for the games, year after year after year. It started with my grandpa, back in the ninetieth Hunger Games, and then transferred over to my great aunt, during hundred and twenties, followed by my uncle followed by my big sister, just a few years back. Since then, I've been training whenever I get the chance. Climbing trees in the forest—practicing archery—you know, the whole deal.

I'm planning on volunteering once I'm eighteen. As of now, I'm not very strong or that great with big weapons, but hopefully by then, I will be. And that day I'll break the family tradition, and come back from the arena, and get to live in one of those big houses with heated floors.

Two years from now is when I'll be going into that arena. As of now, I think I'll let someone else take that spot. Plus, it's the Quarter Quell. No thank you.

Before the reaping I talk to Jannett. Jannett is my older brother Angelo's fiancé, and she's already pregnant at seventeen; if she wasn't pregnant, I don't think they would be getting married so soon.

Just before the mayor waddles onto the stage—he's not exactly the skinniest person here—I find my way to the Sixteens and sit down beside some people from school, being as quiet as possible, because last time someone was making noise while the mayor was giving that great, long boring speech, the Peacemakers were pretty strict about it.

"Panem," he starts, and clears his throat. The microphone makes a large noise and everyone covers their ears, but once the sound has passed he continues. "Panem is a great nation. Twelve Districts, all of which are..." I tune him out. I have this speech memorized; I've been hearing it since I was a baby, and it's not like he's saying anything important.

When the mayor waddles off and the escort waddles on—she's not the skinniest person, either—I begin to pay more attention. "District Three will win!" She pumps her fist in the air, and a few people near the front of the stage do the same. Twelves and Thirteens, obviously, are the only people that would fist-pump along with this pink-haired lady. "We will beat all odds and win!"

That's what they said the past ten years. And guess what? Still no victory.

She must think that by fist-pumping we'll have a better chance, because her fist is slicing through the air every two seconds or so. "Go District Three! Go District Three! Go District Three!"

I tune out again until I notice her sticking her arm into the glass bowl. I sit up. Who will be the unlucky girl this year?

"Jannett von Cape!"

I freeze in my seat. My heart stops for a second. What? Jannett is the tribute? But that's not fair, she's _pregnant. _If she goes into the game, the Capitol will be taking two lives away, because, let's face it, she has no chance of winning.

Jannett is walking towards the stage, staring straight ahead dazedly, but as she passes me I step in front of her and stop her. Then, as an instinct, I yell, "I volunteer as tribute."

I don't move for a second, because one of my friends whispers, "What are you doing? I thought you were going to wait two years, Cheyenne." And when I look at the bunch of them sitting back comfortably in their seats, I see they're all giving me an expression, like I've just gone and done something utterly ridiculous, that can't be taken back.

And I guess I have.

***

In the Justice Building, Jannett weeps into my arm while Angelo stands by and watches. They're the only visitors I've allowed in, and that's because with her raging pregnancy hormones I was afraid of what Jannett would do if I didn't.

"You didn't have to do that," she tells me, and Angelo shakes his head, rakes his fingers through his brown hair.

"I know," I say, and pat her lightly on the back.

Across the room, I catch the eye of the male tribute, Connor Foxx, who is also patting the back of a crying girl. I wonder if my eyes look as sad as his do right now, and I give him a weak smile. He smiles back, just barely. We both know neither of us will last that long during the games. Not with the crazy District One and Two Careers it showed on the recap of the reapings, anyways.

Angelo tells Jannett it's time to leave, and she nods and gives me one last squeeze before heading for the door. While the Peacekeepers let her out, Angelo holds me and says, "That was brave, Cheyenne. You just better come back. Break the family tradition now."

I feel tears pricking behind my eyes but I look up and hold them in. Crying is weakness. And I am not weak. Especially not now.

Angelo pulls away when the Peacekeepers approach us, and I move the corners of my mouth upwards. Except it feels just like a movement and not an emotion, so I just give up and hug him one last time. "See you soon," I say.

"See you soon."

The Peacekeepers escort him out, so I lean against the back caramel-coloured wall and draw a long breath. I keep it in as long as I can, and then slowly release it through my nose.

What was I thinking?

* * *

**Connor Foxx's POV**

I'm not sure what's worse: The fact that the escort who, for some reason is continually punching the air with her fist, just called my name—even though my name was only put into that damn glass bowl once—or that I haven't bothered to get dressed up or do my hair, and so my first impression on the Capitol won't be that great. Sponsors will be lacking.

My girlfriend Terri tries to pull me back at first, but one of my friends from school grabs her while I take my chance to go through the Fifteens, Fourteens, Thirteens and Twelves, all of which stare at me like I'm of a different species.

My little brother in the Twelves, he looks up at me with his eyes wide. I smile at him, trying to reassure him everything is all right. But it doesn't work, probably because I have to reassure myself first.

Smiling for the cameras, I climb onto the stage. I flip my hair out of my eyes so it lands in the right place atop my head, smiling sort of fakely for the cameras. A girl with long brown hair is already standing up by the escort, not making eye contact with me and looking up at the clouds, with her mind clearly some place else. She had volunteered for a girl who I heard was pregnant, Jannett von something-or-whatever.

The escort has pink hair, and when I shake her hand she smiles her blinding white teeth at me. I flinch, but don't show that anything has affected me too much. Careers are probably watching this right now, growling through their snared teeth and already figuring out what my weaknesses are.

Everything is happening too quickly. They lead us into the Justice Building. I say goodbye to my mom, my brother and Terri, but I seem to be on auto-pilot and I'm unable to react much to any of their tears. So I pat each of them on the back and tell them all that it will be all right, although I know it won't, and smile at the girl with long brown hair who is hugging that pregnant Seventeen. At least, I think it's a smile. I can't be too sure.

I hold onto Terri as long as I can, but, eventually, the Peacekeepers do tell her she has to leave. She gives me a kiss, my mom and brother say some last words which I can't comprehend, and then they leave. Staring at the doorway they just walked out of, I blink a couple of times, because this hasn't processed in my mind yet. _I'm in the Hunger Games. I'm in the Hunger Games. I'm in the Hunger Games. _

And still. Nothing.

The girl across the room has her eyes shut and is leaning against the wall with her hands over her head. She looks more nervous than me. I am trying to think of something to say to her before they take us to the train to meet our mentors and escort, but before I can she begins to talk to me. "Can you fight?"

"Yeah," I reply slowly. "Can you?"

"Decently," she tells me. Her eyes are still shut. "Not without a weapon."

"I can't either."

I know enough about the Hunger Games to know this isn't good. Especially the year the Cornucopia is hidden.

"Oh well," she says. "We'll manage."

By her use of _we_, I guess we've become allies.

**A/N: Think they'll survive? Review!**

**Oh, and thank you to everyone who has already been reviewing so far (: I appreciate it!**


	5. District Four Reaping

**Ariel Peffer's POV**

By the time we get to the square, my mother has already pointed me out to all of her friends and how, finally, maybe District Four will have a winner in the games. I know she's right, and so I chose not to say anything.

I sit with the other Sixteens, but, compared to me, they all look weak and vulnerable and ugly. And, as I glance around at the rest of the potential tributes, it's pretty much the same for everybody else. No real competition from this District, at least. Maybe there will be something good from the others—like One and Two.

"Welcome," the mayor, a small fat woman that resembles a penguin very much, starts off her speech, before going on about Panem and the Treaty and other stuff nobody cares about. I look at my cuticles for the hour or however long it takes her to finish, but finally I hear a new voice—a perkier voice—and I realize the escort has arrived.

She is the most normal escort I've ever seen—short black hair and brown eyes. When she speaks she ruins it, though, as her annoying chipmunk-like, high-pitched voice is just like all the others.

Her name is Sayta, and she tells us District Four will win this year.

Which we will. Hello, I'm volunteering.

"For the ladies we have..." She pauses, expecting a drum roll that won't come, but reaches into the glass bowl and pulls out a sheet of paper. "Melanie—"

"I VOLUNTEER!" I yell out proudly. Finally, this is my year. My year to win. My year to feel that feeling of victory as tribute after tribute dies by torturous ways—and I'll be able to see them draw that last breath, and then go still. I get goosebumps just thinking about it all.

Sayta seems confused because I'm already at the stage beside her, eyes narrowed and a scowl on my lips. But I also toss my glossy black hair over my shoulder, so all of the Capitol can see not only am I going to win, but I'm going to do it looking hot, too. I probably already have sponsors lining up for me.

"Okay," Sayta says slowly. "Looks like we have a volunteer."

The boy who gets called doesn't have a chance to come to the stage, either; Sayta doesn't even get through his first name. "I volunteer!" A guy with blond hair and blue eyes walks up to the stage, glaring menacingly at me. I'm not fazed. I just glare menacingly back. I've seen this guy around school once or twice. His great grandfather was the winner of the games, or something like that—the one who got a trident and speared everyone with it at fourteen years old. Finnick, I think, was his name.

I can beat him. I'll beat him so bad he'll wish he never volunteered. When his life is slowly draining out of him—

Well, I may be getting a little ahead of myself.

The escort smiles at me as I shake her hand. I don't smile back. Smiling is for cowards. Smiling hides nervousness—and I am anything but nervous. I'm excited for this. Excited to win.

This escort person sees I'm not going to smile at her and lets go of my hand to turn to Finnick's relative. He doesn't give her a smile, either, and she scowls a little at Finnick before turning away from the two of us and gesturing to the Peacekeepers, who come over and pull us towards the Justice Building. I don't make eye contact with the blond-haired guy. We're both careers, and we'll both end up together somehow in the end. I don't want to waste my precious time talking to him at the moment.

Both of us refuse visitors, and sit in a cramped room, alone, in an awkward silence while we wait for the train to come and take us away. I use this silence to strategize what would be the best way to kill him. He looks good with things like swords—but that's all right; I am too. I'd be able to pierce him through the heart with one of those wickedly curved ones that catches the glint of the sun, because no matter how good he is with a weapon, I know I'm better.

The blond-haired guy, who I've decided I will call Finnick, as I can't remember his name, says, "Good luck." He says it like he pities me.

"Good luck to you too," I mutter, and look at him through narrowed eyes. "I think you'll need it."

"I don't think so," he mutters back.

I really just love this type of competition. The type that truly believes they can beat me. The clueless type.

"We'll see," I say.

* * *

**Alexander Willis's POV**

Finnick this, Finnick that. Finnick did this; you should too, Alexander, because doing that would get you _tons_ of sponsors. Make sure to tell your stylist to put on the same outfit Finnick had for the chariot ride. The Capitol will know you're serious. Blah blah yadda yadda, people need to learn when they should just shut the hell up.

"Finnick won when he was fourteen. He was your relative, you can do the same, Alexander, don't doubt yourself!" I ditch my mother in the middle of this conversation to go stand with the other Seventeens. I won't have to see her again until after the games, and by then I doubt she'll be mad for me walking away considering the house we'll be living in.

The girl that volunteers is a complete psycho. I don't know how they even allow her in Panem, she's completely terrifying as she walks to the stage. It's not the fact she has a horrible half-smirk half-scowl on her face, no, but the fact that she's pretty good-looking—possibly, _possibly,_ better-looking than I am—and therefore some sponsors may be lost on her.

Since the girl volunteered before the name was even fully called, I volunteer before the first name is even finished. I feel like I've won that, and so I give her a dirty look on my way to the stage. Her stare just gets harder and more menacing as I come closer and closer to the stage, and in the end I break eye contact with her to glare at some of the cameras.

I notice she glares at the escort when she shakes her hand, and then glances towards me, as if expecting I'll smile at her and show I have some vulnerability. I glare at the escort meaner than she had, and then continue to follow the Peacekeepers.

Neither of us dares break the silence while we wait to be taken to the train. In the past Hunger Games all the careers banded together to get rid of the weaker ones first—and then continued on to hunt out each other. I can't help but wonder if it will be different this year, because, obviously, it won't be easy for me to work with this girl.

I think of what her strengths and weaknesses may be. She looks strong, her arms and legs both muscular, and so probably something having to do with a larger weapon. Javelin throwing? Spears? Tridents? Swords? Weaknesses—I can't tell right off the bat. She has yet to show any sort of emotion besides eagerness to compete, and so maybe over-confidence is in the mix somewhere. I would just have to find a moment when she let her guard down—let her trust me a little.

But her eyes are unblinking, staring straight ahead at the blank, black wall ahead of us.

She's thinking the same thing I am.

I lean back farther into my chair. Trusting anyone in these games will decide your death.

**A/N: District Four is one of the stronger districts this year. Good or bad thing? Reviewwwww! (:**


	6. District Five Reaping

**A/N: Someone mentioned in a review that I've stolen the idea of another Fanfiction author. When I read that I guess I was kind of—well, really, I don't even know the word to describe it.**

**I wouldn't, ever ever, steal someone else's idea. That's not me. If you find the stories similar, I'm sorry, but I didn't in any way at all copy another Fanfiction, aside from the fact I let other people submit characters. **

**They also said that you cannot volunteer in Districts 1, 2 or 3. I do not remember reading about this in the Hunger Games. I'm sorry if this is true, since these characters HAVE volunteered. Like I said, I don't really remember Susan Collins saying it (but I'm not saying she didn't), and it has never been brought to my attention.**

**And someone else has pointed out Cato volunteered during the Hunger Games. **

**Anyways, this was kind of long so I'll just get on with it all. **

** Enjoy!**

**Ebony Storm's POV**

Emmett sits beside me in the Thirteen section during the reaping, looking just about as nervous as I am. His green eyes—the same color as mine—are looking straight ahead at the heads in front and behind us. There are a lot of them. Girls and boys of all heights and sizes and weights, wealthy and poor. Emmett points out some of the odder ones in the crowd—a guy with angry red eyes and black hair sticking up everywhere, looking kind of depressed. A girl with at least ten large flowers in her hair.

This is a game we've played since last year, our first reaping. Whoever can find the weirdest person in the crowd before both names are drawn from the big glass bowls wins. Last year, I won. This year, it looks like he's winning. So far.

I'm only a little bit scared. Yeah, there are about ten slips in the bowl with my name on it, same with Emmett's, but there are people in the crowd with their name in their twenty times or so, with a bunch of little siblings they have to take care of. With me and Emmett, it's just us. Easy peasy.

The mayor comes on and explains about the history of Panem, the Treaty of Treason. I've heard most of this stuff in school before, so I only listen when she does something interesting, like gesture with her fur-gloved hands to prove one of her points or whatever.

After she says some more inspirational stuff, the mayor goes off the stage and welcomes the same escort we had last year, Herbanthi, onto the stage. I actually kind of like Herbanthi, unlike some of the weird ones we see on the reapings on our televison. They all have weird coloured hair and skin, but Herbanthi has pale skin and dark blond hair and actually looks human.

He goes into the girls' bowl first. I sit on the edge of my seat while Emmett has his hand lightly on my back. I shut my eyes and try to send a telepathic link to Herbanthi, not to pick any of my slips of paper. I know if I end up getting chosen my chances of living are slim to none, and slim already died.

"Ebony Storm!"

Ebony Storm? Me? I got picked? How is that possible? That isn't even possible. There's a mistake. He read the paper wrong. He mispronounced a different name. But then he calls out again, "Ebony Storm!" and I have no choice but to walk through the Twelves section and to the stage. He doesn't see me coming at first, because I'm shorter than some of the Twelves.

But I make it up to the stage. Hardly.

Herbanthi looks at me with a sad look on his face, like he looked at last year's tribute Heather. She was Twelve, and died in the bloodbath.

As I look out desperately at the crowd for volunteers, I can't help but think my fate will be the same.

***

"You'll be fine," Emmett tells me in the Justice Building. He's my only visitor, unlike the Seventeen across the room who has a woman, who looks like his mother or aunt or someone like that, and a little girl with the same shoulder-length black hair as him. Every so often he'll look over in my direction and, when I see him staring, look back away.

I'm hoping I'll do fine, anyway. Maybe I'll be able to hide it out. I mean, I am small, and I do hunt some rabbits and stuff for their pelts to sell, so I can throw a dagger around okay-ly. Except, I don't know if this will be enough against the careers. Especially the ones from One and Four.

"Thanks, Emmett," I say, and hug my twin. We stay in the hug until the Peacekeepers come and pull him out of the room, and I wave, staying as strong as I can when really on the inside, I'm breaking.

* * *

**Odyss Fairmount's POV**

My little sister, Jacklyn, tells me good luck before I head off to the Seventeens section, and she stays in the back with my mom. She's only eleven, and her first actual reaping won't be until next year. Just one more year to be a kid.

I don't have much terrasae, but there's still the chance I could get chosen. I would hate to leave my mother and my sister. That would be the only reason I would regret going into the games—otherwise, a little more activity in my life might not be too bad of a thing. Just the dying part wouldn't be that great.

The escort, who has been the same for a few years now and is a favourite of most tributes, Herbanthi, comes on after the mayor and talks how we might have a chance this year. These escorts are probably paid extra to say stuff like that, though, so I don't take any of his words to heart. Besides, they're the same as every reaping day speech. _Good luck. May the odds be in your favour. And Happy Hunger Games to you all! _

Herbanthi picks out a girl's name, and reads out, "Ebony Storm!"

It takes a minute, but soon I see a little shuffling above all the littler heads up front and a girl about Jacklyn's height walks onto the stage. Her darker hair goes down to her waist, and she looks completely lost and helpless, her tiny body standing on such a large stage.

Even from the Seventeens section I see Herbanthi hesitating before taking something a piece of paper out of the boy's bowl. This little girl has absolutely no chance of surviving the next few weeks.

I'm so caught up in sympathy for this girl who sort of reminds me of Jacklyn that I don't hear my name being called until the third time. "Odyss Fairmount? Am I pronouncing this right, or what?"

That's me, I realize, and from very behind me I hear Jacklyn call something out to me that I can't hear. But I recognize her voice. I'd recognize her voice anywhere.

I keep my face tough for the cameras. I'm tall. I'm all right in size. Not lanky, but not real muscular either, if you're going to compare me to the careers. I could possibly intimidate some tributes—the younger ones—like this Ebony girl on the stage. Another person that I don't have to worry about killing me.

But even that won't save me.

Herbanthi gives me a smile as I walk next to the little girl. It's the smile he gives to everyone—what every escort gives to every unfortunate tribute chosen. It basically says, _Thanks for participating in the Hunger Games. We appreciate you being here, it's just too bad you won't be here for much longer. Enjoy it while it lasts. _

***

Jacklyn cries when she comes into the Justice Building. Both my mother and I try to comfort her, but she's a pretty smart eleven-year-old. She knows the chance of me coming back is horribly against my favour. But, of course, I promise her I'll try—which I will, with everything I have—and that soon we'll live in a nicer, richer-looking house.

I glance over at Ebony a few times. Her size and quietness remind me of Jacklyn. This—I can't let it get to me. I'm going to be coming home to Jacklyn and my mom, because without me I'm not sure they would get by as easily as we do now. And since there's no way my mom would ever let Jacklyn sign up for terrasae, especially after this....

"Bye, Odyss." My mom goes up on her tiptoes to kiss me on my cheek, and I lean down a bit. I hold her a little, her more delicate frame in my taller one, before giving Jacklyn a kiss on the forehead and hugging her tightly. "I'll be back," I tell her. "I'll be back."

Because if it means life or death, for me, my mom, and my little eleven-year-old sister, I'll do whatever it takes to win this thing.


	7. District Six Reaping

**Nikole Ratstrum's POV**

This is it, I think. This is it. This is my time my time to shine; my time to outshine all the others, like it should have been done all along—quoting Nina.

I agree with this completely, of course, because I've waited for this moment since Liz died in the games five years ago.

Nina walks with me to the square, quizzing me on the other tributes so far. The most intimidating pair is definitely the ones from District Four. The others, yeah there's some competition, but competition for twelve year olds. Not for me.

When we get to the square I make sure my blond hair is falling just on my shoulders, because it looks best this way and will probably impress everyone most. I had also applied some of Nina's black charcoal stuff on my eyelids to bring out my eyes. Sponsors were the key to this game, and so that was what I was going to get.

"Good," Nina says when she sees me adjusting my hair, and picks a loose thread off my light pink dress. It's my best dress and poofs out at the knees, showing off my muscled, yet slim, legs, showing whoever the other tribute is that he has no chance with winning these games, or getting the sponsors. I mean, _look at me. _

Nina is my mentor and coach—she's my step-sister, and my stepmom won the games when she was sixteen, then got married and had Nina. After Liz, my only biological sister, died in the games when I was only ten, Nina took the advice my stepmom had given her and put it to good use for me, since she's never had an interest in the games.

And I'm going to let Liz go down without a fight.

Well, like, I mean I guess she already has. Gone down and—you know, died. But I'll avenge it all when I win this year. Because this year, I'm going to shine.

The escort is named Pennifer but tells us to call him Penny for short. He has dark violet hair and light violet skin and a violet suit to match and it all pretty much looks retarded. I don't think I've seen a stupider escort before—but then again, Penny's the only escort I've really ever seen.

He calls some girl named Serena Fredds, and as she's on the stage I volunteer. As soon as my hand flies into the air I know the cameras are on me, and so I smile like I know something everyone else doesn't, and walk as if I was modelling this dress and not myself.

I think he's surprised to see me, this girly-girl-looking type, volunteering. Pennifer, I mean. We're supposed to be one of the smartest districts—and from a first look it probably doesn't look like I'm smart. And, okay, maybe I'm not as smart as the other District Six people, but come on. In this dress, with my perfect _Confident and Pretty _interview vibe, I'll get as much sponsors as I need.

And let's face it. That's really all you need to win.

***

The guy across the room from me is Liam Holloway. He's in my class at school, and he's the one the teacher always leaves in charge when he leaves the room, if you're picking up what I'm putting down. Unlike me, he hasn't refused visitors and is hugging his family and kissing them and all of them, including Liam, are crying. Seriously. He's going to die too soon.

I refused visitors because I already said my last goodbyes to Nina and my stepmom. That's all I needed. I don't need to waste time when I could be strategorically—is that a word?—making allies and stuff. Although, now, I can see making allies won't be needed at the moment.

I'll make them once I get to the Capitol.

Let the games begin.

* * *

**Liam Holloway's POV**

I'm smart. Actually, I'm really smart. Wise, even, might be a good word to describe me, and if you're comparing me to the other kids in District Six, well, they can't compete. My brain's about as big as the Hunger Games are cruel.

So when I get chosen for tribute, I'm not that scared. There have been some tributes in the past that have won because of relying on their smartness. But as I walk up to the stage and I see that Nikole girl from my class staring off into the distance, and remember those careers from the first few districts, I cannot even imagine me outwitting them to win it all. And so, while I'm up on that stage, I start crying a little. Just a little sniff here and there, but it still gets me a few strange looks from Nikole, and probably the people of Panem who are watching it right now.

I catch Nikole rolling her eyes at me as the two of us are led into the Justice Building. Oh, well. She's stupid, if what I've learned from her in class is true and she's not acting—which I don't think she is, because a few weeks ago she almost puked in class when she learnt bees made honey; one of her favourite foods.

"Good luck, sweetheart," my mom tells me, and she's crying. My dad pats her on the back, but he's crying, too, along with my twin brother and sister, Kenya and Paul. We're all sobbing in a group hug by the time the Peacekeepers come and tell them it's time to leave, and so they slowly exit the room, leaving me with Nikole. She's either refused visitors, or nobody has come see her off.

"No visitors?" I question, to make conversation. I suppose one of my strategies will be to outsmart them—make them think they can trust me—and then stab them in the back. What else do I have going for me?

"Oh," she says, "I had a few visitors, but I refused them."

I nod like I understand. Like I have empathy for her.

When really, it couldn't be more of the contrary.

"I see," I say. I realize it won't take much to outwit this one. "So what are your strategies during the games?"

Nikole leans forward in her seat as if she's getting ready to tell a long story. "Well," she starts, and I go in closer to hear well. "It's going to start off with me _not falling for your stupid attempts to get into my head, _and end with _me killing you. _So just give it up, ginger, and you might live a few more days."

"That's pretty harsh."

"Good."

There's a few seconds of silence. And then I say, "You know what they make _the best of_ in the Capitol? That's even better than here?"

She sighs dramatically and crosses her arms over her chest. She doesn't respond either, so I go on with it.

"Honey. It's the best. Did you ever try some?"

This makes her eyes narrow as she covers her mouth and runs up to the Peacekeepers, telling them she's going to be sick.

I just need to find out all their weaknesses.

And when I do it'll be game over, and I'll be the new victor of the Hunger Games.

**A/N: Woo! We're halfway through the reapings! Anyways, think these tributes have any chance of winning? At all? (: Review!**


	8. District Seven Reaping

**Ryli Smith's POV**

I just have one question: Why me?

Why in the world is it always me that gets the short end of the stick? Why does it always have to be me, Ryli Smith, who is the one person that has the worst luck in the world? Why? Why can't I be that other person—the person who has the best luck in the world—the person who finds money on the road and accidentally runs into fame and fortune?

This runs through my head as I walk up to the stage, up to the escort, after my name has been called. It's one of my worst nightmares come true. Being chosen for tribute. And as my two little sisters watch on from the Fifteens and Fourteens sections, I smile at each of them, along with my mother in the back, but I know everyone who sees it can tell it's fake. Fake, fake, fake.

The escort is wearing a long pink evening gown that scrapes against the floor when she walks to the boys' bowl. Her hair is in a bun, and her face has a bunch of sparkles on it, so I'm wondering if she's in the wrong place right now—this isn't a dinner function at the Capitol. This is a reaping in District Seven.

"Bridger Henderson!" she calls, and a really muscular, tall guy with short blond hair comes out from the Sixteens. He has a grumpy look on his face, like this is all very stupid and he just wants it to be over, with bags under his eyes. When he climbs up to the stage, I don't look at him, and he doesn't look at me. The competition between the two of us has already started it seems, but the odds of winning are in his favour.

We shake the escort's hand, me smiling a little at her and for the cameras, Bridger keeping that same grumpy look on his face, which I guess is a good strategy—already having your personality down and all ready for show for all of Panem and the Capitol. I try to think of what my personality might be during something like the interview, but fail.

My visitors are my two little sisters and my mother—all of which bring me straight into a big embrace with all of them.

"Good luck, Ryles," my mom says, but she knows I hate it when she calls me that. It doesn't matter what she calls me right now, though. I don't care. "You'll do fine. Don't worry, hun."

I can't fight, I want to say, but don't. The only thing I'm relatively good at is hiding; maybe having patience with things. Not being able to fight in the Hunger Games is like telling a fish to survive without water. _You can do it. Don't worry about it. You'll do fine, Ryli. _

No. I won't.

"Bye, Ryli," my fourteen-year-old sister, Sonia, says with a sniff. My fifteen-year-old sister Petunia does the same, and we hug one last time, my mom kisses me on the forehead, and then they are forced to leave by the Peacekeepers. As I stare at Petunia's blond ponytail swinging as the doors shut behind them, I realize this is probably the last time I will see them again. Ever. In my life—maybe even past my lifetime—and I wish I had told them more, how I loved them, and how I would try to win the games, just for them.

And then I take another look at Bridger, remember the tributes from the other districts, and the always-negative side of me reminds myself that the day I win will be the day the Hunger Games turn into a good thing for Panem.

Which, obviously, will never happen.

* * *

**Bridger Henderson's POV**

I'm really tired and extra pissy when I sit down in the Sixteens section. I just want to go home. Have a nap. For all of this to be done with so I can get some more sleep in before I go back to work tomorrow.

After the mayor is done talking she invites the escort onto the stage, who is wearing some kinda pink dress that hurts to look at more than the sun does and has some shimmery stuff all over her face. This is absolutely stupid because we're at a reaping. It's not a freaking tea party.

"Ryli Smith!" she says into the microphone, and a girl with dirty blond hair with a bunch of different shades of brown and blond mixed into it goes to the stage. She looks weak. She wouldn't survive the bloodbath—if there was going to be one this year, that is. But, still, she has no chance against the careers.

My eyes are getting heavy. How long do these things last, for god's sake? I don't think any other reaping in my life has seemed to be this long.

"Bridger Henderson!"

Now, my eyes are wide open. Someone called my name. No, the _escort_ called my name.

So I walk up to the stage, not changing my expression for the cameras or Panem or the escort or anything. That would be too much work. I yawn as I step beside that Ryli girl, because the shock that I'm a tribute hasn't hit me yet. Maybe once I take a nice long nap and wake up it will—but not right now.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the escort says. "I give you the tributes of District Seven!"

***

My dad comes to see me in the Justice Building. He looks me up and down first before putting his arm around my shoulder and giving me a slap on the back. "You look bigger than some careers, son. I think you just might have a chance."

I yawn again. When does the train come to pick us up? I want some sleep before getting too into the games and meeting everyone. "Yeah, Dad, I know."

"Do good, son," he tells me.

"I will."

My dad is about the only person I really put up with. If anyone else gives me any bull at all, well, it isn't that pretty for them. With my dad though, it's a different story.

When he leaves I stand in the middle of the room, wondering what to do. I don't have to wonder for too long, because the Ryli girl goes, "Okay, so, I don't know you that well, but do you want to be allies?"

I sigh. It doesn't matter who this girl allies with, she won't last long any way. "Not really," I say honestly, and cross my arms over my chest, hoping she gets the message.

She does, because she doesn't say anything else.

Finally. Silence.

**A/N: What do you guys think? Review? =)**


	9. District Eight Reaping

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing! (: Oh, and just a little information on what the games will look like. After the reapings, I'll be writing in first person because I want to really get to know the characters, and I'm not as comfortable doing that in third as I am in first. **

**However, not each district will have a chapter, because, say, in the first chapter after the reapings the POVs could vary from Districts Seven to One to Eleven, and have more than three POVs. Some could be short, some could be long.**

**These chapters will also be longer than the current ones.**

**Well, it'll make sense once we get going. (: **

**Mara Davies POV**

Tarha says that if I get chosen, it really doesn't matter much. I'm not doing much for the family right now, anyway.

I don't think this is true. I think, without me and my terrasae Tarha and my mom might actually have troubles getting food. We've always had enough to eat, sure, but what does that prove? I've gotten terrasae, against my mother's wishes, so we could eat. Did Tarha? No. I didn't think so.

And to be honest, it's not that big of a surprise when the escort calls my name. And it's not that big of a shocker when I can hear Tarha one row behind me gasp audibly and say my name quietly, because a few minutes ago she was saying it wasn't that big of a deal if I went off and died.

My friend, Pam, gives me a hug before I walk towards the stage. She's so much shorter and a little stubbier than I am, so I have to bend down a bit. Although most people are stubbier than me. I just don't have a lot of meat on my bones.

I decide to smile all the way, because I already have my interview personality picked out, and smiling goes well with being likeable and fun. I don't even think my grin looks as horribly fake as it feels—in fact, I'm sure it looks pretty good compared to some of the other district tribute's fake smiles. I could be an actress. Or an escort.

"Robert Lark!"

I look out at the crowd for this Robert Lark, and he emerges a few seconds later from the Fourteens. He's tall and strong for a fourteen-year-old, but that only gives him about a year or two, tops. His black hair is slightly in his eyes, and he flicks his head to the side and gets it out of his face, acting like he's really good-looking, when really he's only attractive. I try to think what he would be like, because I've never seen him before.

I think I'll go with cocky.

In the Justice Building, my sister doesn't say a lot to me, despite what she had been saying earlier about not caring about me going in the games. I had been expecting an apology or something like that, but I guess that wasn't the case here, so we hugged and she left. Then my friend Pam came in, told me I'd be coming back, and that there were some pretty hot guys from the other Districts and that I was pretty lucky to get to meet them. Then we hugged and she left.

They let my mom in last like I had requested. She was the last person I wanted to remember, and we embraced each other the moment she stepped foot into the room. "My terrasae will get you guys by," I tell her. "If you need it get Tarha to sign up for some next year. Her name being in the draw two more times isn't that big of a deal, Mom."

She nods, but I know she's not really listening to what I'm saying. When I don't come back Tarha and my mother will be sulking around and my mom—probably not going to work. But Tarha is a big girl—seventeen—a year older than me, and I'm sure she'll be able to take care of herself if the time comes.

"Good luck," she whispers. "I know you can do it."

I smile at her and rub my hands up and down my arm because it's starting to get cold in here. Or maybe it isn't—it could be goosebumps. Really, I can't tell.

I wonder what chance I actually have. I don't know how to use weapons. The thing I've used closest for a weapon is a sewing machine, and my biggest talent would be cooking. And I don't know how far _that_ will get me, because I can't hunt.

But, maybe, with sponsors and allies—

Well, maybe I have a chance.

Key word: Maybe.

* * *

**Robert Lark's POV**

I get chosen for tribute. At first, I'm too stunned to move. Because my name was in that draw _once. _And still, I got picked. This makes no sense to me, but I recover from my confusion quickly and put on my sexiest smile before walking towards the stage. I'm hoping my good looks and shiny black hair will win me sponsors.

The girl who got chosen, Mara, is kind of scary looking. Her cheeks are hollow and her collar bones are prominent against her pale and thin skin. Her blonde hair hangs in her eyes. I can probably count each bone in her body.

There is no way that girl could handle any type of weapon. Her wrist would snap, or something. Me, on the other hand—if I train enough, I'll be able to get a grasp on some kind of weapon. A knife, maybe, or a bow and arrow. All the people on the former Hunger Games made it look _easy _to control those things. If they could do it, surely I would be able to do it too.

I toss my hair off my forehead when I get to the stage. Who will cry for me when I go into the Hunger Games? Besides my family. Maybe Madi would. I've heard she's been in love with me since we were ten years old from various sources, so it's possible I'll have another visitor in the Justice Building.

And I do. Madi is there, and she gives me a giant hug, telling me to be careful. Since Madi is pretty hot I tell her I will be, and the first person I kill will be for her, at which point she bursts into sobs. Really, I never thought being a tribute would be so prospering. Another way to boost my ego a tad higher.

By the time my family comes in, I'm already in the _don't-worry-about-me-I'll-be-fine _hero mode. They soak it in, hug me, and then my mom and dad end up leaving in tears, all worried and stuff. But I'm on a high. People are worried I'm going to die. If I don't die, it would be such an accomplishment. _Fourteen Year Old Wins Hunger Games, Against All Odds. _

In fact, that could be my interview personality. Modest and down to earth, but secretly knowing he can kill whoever he needs to. And if I get far enough, they'll interview my family and friends. Probably including Madi. Oh—there we go—star-crossed lovers. Sponsors, much?

These games aren't too bad of a thing for me. Especially when I win. I'll get one of those fancy houses—get to mentor next year's tributes.

I just can't wait.

**A/N: Honestly, I have never met a person more self-absorbed than Robert is—and is going to be. **


	10. District Nine Reaping

**Bambi Shoonheid's POV**

When I walk up to the stage, it's for Lilly. I walk proudly, like I'm ready for whatever they throw at me—and I am. Whatever I do in these games, whoever I kill, it'll all be for Lilly—Lilly who died last year—Lilly who died from one of those cocky and confident careers, who put on a show for the Capitol and all of Panem to see while he did it.

That guy, Ledger Freitzman, won that year, and will be mentoring the District Ones this year. Hopefully I won't get to see him, at all.

"Looks like we have a volunteer," the escort says. I'm not entirely sure if they're a man or a woman—with short spiked blond hair and green eyes, wearing a slightly baggy T-shirt, so it's not clear whether they have a chest or not.

I wasn't really planning on volunteering this year. Actually, I planned on staying at home with my mom while the Hunger Games were going on. But a _twelve _year old was chosen. And so I, having training and standing a much better chance than this unfortunate twelve year old, volunteered for her and for her crying family out in the crowd.

As I step up beside this man/woman escort, I look out at the crowd—see my friends—the boys from school, staring up at me.

I know I'm attractive. I just choose not to bask in it—unlike that Nikole girl and that Robert guy I saw on the TV. It doesn't really matter, though, because their overconfidence will kill them before the games begin.

To get sponsors, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, appearing innocent in this way, but keep my expression serious and my eyebrows slightly pointed downwards at nose, appearing grim. The contrast between the two will confuse some of the tributes, with any luck, not knowing what to expect from me.

"Nicholas Parks!" The escort draws the boy's name. A guy from the Seventeens comes out while another girl tries to desperately grab his arm and pull him back, but he shakes her off and comes to the stage. His long orange hair, in a ponytail down his back, and very dark green eyes are a strange mixture, but he's tall and not very muscular, so I take away the fact he could possibly be attractive without the ponytail.

Plus, he looks scared.

Nobody volunteers for him; we shake the escort's hand; et cetera et cetera, and then enter the Justice Building. My only visitor is my mother, and she beams brightly before hugging me. I know she knows I'll do great in these games.

"You can win it, Bambi," she says.

I nod. With all the training I have been getting from a few years ago, since the games Lilly died in, I would be surprised if I didn't.

"Thanks, Mom," I say, and we hug once more before her time runs out and the Peacekeepers tell her she has to leave. She blows me a kiss at the door, and I smile and wave back confidently. One thing I know about the games is that you have to be confident. Just not the confident Robert whatever-his-name-is had. That was one of Lilly's mistakes, and this year those are the mistakes I'll right.

Nicholas Parks, across the room, I find is staring at me. So I smile at him, too, but he blushes and looks away. As much as I had wanted to, it becomes obvious that partnering with my district partner would pretty much be suicide—and so I throw that thought out the window. I may get a chance with the careers. Wiggle my way into their circle, somehow. Or someone who isn't a career, but still capable.

But it really doesn't matter. Either way, I'm going to win this. Win it all, the stakes high, my life on the line. For Lilly.

* * *

**Nicholas Parks's POV**

Bambi volunteers for tribute, and I can't help but smile as she makes her way, graceful as ever, up to the stage. My sister Hanna punches me lightly on the arm because she knows how I feel about Bambi. But I know she'll do well in the games—from the ten years I've known her, I know she's good at throwing knives, climbing, and a bunch of other stuff.

And she looks really pretty today in a short green dress she wore to a dinner we both went to once. If you're up close, you can see a butterfly print on it.

I can't tell what approach Bambi's going for—weak, maybe, or possibly strong and intimidating.

"Nicholas Parks!"

Oh. That's me.

I slowly walk up to the stage, confused. I had no terrasae. My family's well off, for the most part; we've always have had enough to eat, just not enough for all that fancy food some other families have. My name was in there once—my chances were low—the odds were against me—and yet, my name was still pulled out of that bowl.

Hanna tries to hold me back, but I tear my arm from her grip, still in a daze, and continue to the stage—to the escort—to Bambi—to my fate.

The escort smiles at me. I attempt to give her one back. And probably fail. I can't tell. Nothing seems like it's reality—this seems like a dream. One of us—Bambi or I—will have to die. That part is evident to me. There can only be on victor, and either it's neither of us or one of us.

I have a strong feeling that it won't be me.

***

My sister and little baby brother and parents visit me before I head off. Hanna, who is adopted and also seventeen, is crying, and my baby brother who is only two has no idea what's going on. As I hug him, I whisper to my parents to keep it that way. When he grows up, maybe he won't even remember I even existed.

My mother and father hug me as well, and tell me I'm a Parks—a good hunter. This could refer to humans as much as it does to animals.

When they leave I can tell almost everyone is holding back tears—including me—but not including Hanna. She just lets it all out. And then they leave, and there's silence between Bambi and me.

At one point in the silence, she smiles at me, but I don't have the guts to return it so I look away. If I didn't know who she was, I might ask her to be allies right now. But I'm well aware of who she is. And I don't have enough courage to ask her to be my ally. Besides, she would be fine on her own—why would she even need someone to help her out?

Me on the other hand—

Well, I'm going to need a lot of help.

**A/N: I found Nicholas's POV hardest to write so far. Anyways, is anyone else as excited for the games as I am? (: Review pleeeeeease?**


	11. District Ten Reaping

**A/N: Blah, sorry guys. I said some tributes names were in once. When I said their names were only in there once, I wasn't really thinking. I meant that their names had been in there the right amount of times depending on their age, without terrasae, but now that I re-read those scenes I realize it makes no sense.**

**Sorry for any confusion =/**

**Victoria Henson:**

There's a lot of hot guys in the Hunger Games. Seriously. Some of those careers—woo-whee. All those biceps and triceps and ceps I probably don't even know the name of—

"Victoria Henson!"

I blink out of my thoughts as someone calls my name. I glance warily at the people around me, but realize that the person who had said Victoria was the guy on the stage. The guy with weird blue hair and skin.

So I go up to the stage. The escort dude is looking at me with this sad expression on his face. I wonder why, but then I remember: I've just been chosen for the Hunger Games.

Oh, shit, I've just been chosen for the Hunger Games.

I look out at the crowd. My sights are set on that Zed guy from school, with the black hair that I've been in love with since forever. I haven't told I love him yet. If I die, how will he know? What if he is secretly in love with me too? And we could've been going out, right now? What if—

"Zed Pyke!"

Oh, no way! This is my lucky day, obviously. At least if I'm going to die, I'll be able to tell the guy I love that I love him before I do. Maybe the Gamemakers will keep me around for a while, if I announce it to him during the interviews or something, for ratings and stuff. And let me die a painless death or something.

Zed comes up to the stage and doesn't make eye contact with me. He's probably shy to face me. Sad that he has to kill me. His one true love. I feel for him. I feel the exact same way.

"I give you the tributes of District Ten!" the escort guy says, and then shows us the way into the Justice Building. I go ahead of Zed and point my chin in the air, that way he can see I'm going to be brave through these games and lead us both through it. I feel this is the best way to work through our complicated relationship.

***

My visitors are my parents and little cousin, who they take care of since my aunt and uncle died. My little cousin is only ten and I don't think she likes me very much—jealousy or something. She doesn't look at me in the Justice Building while my parents and I say goodbye, and I'm kind of grateful, because she's really annoying. Like, I can't even describe to you how annoying she is.

"Bye, Icky Vicki," she whispers as my mom forces her to give me a hug. Icky Vicki is what she's been calling me since she moved in a few years ago. I hate it, clearly. Icky Vicki is such an unfitting name for someone like _moi,_ who is not, in any way at all, icky. At all.

I mean, I'm going to _die_ and she just called me Icky Vicki.

"Bye, Poopy Poppy," I reply.

Yeah, so what, I'm immature. Everyone else can deal with it. I am, after all, going to die soon.

They leave in tears—but for some reason I'm still not crying.

Maybe because, now, I'll finally get the chance to talk to Zed.

* * *

**Zed Pyke's POV**

The freak tries to talk to me in the Justice Building, after all our visitors leave.

I mean, we're going to die soon. Can't she leave me one day, _one freaking day, _without trying to speak to me? After all the years I've been in her class, that's all I ask. Is it too much to believe I would get? _One day. _

This is too much to ask, I find out, because she talks to me.

"Hi, Zed," she says.

I don't want to speak to her. I don't. If I speak to her, she'll think we're allies, and then follow me around in the arena while I try to win, complaining about how sore her feet are and how much dirt got into her nails.

But I talk anyways. We're district partners. I'm going to have to talk to her soon.

"Hi," is all I say.

"What's up?" she asks.

Oh _god. _Did she actually just ask me that? Right after we got chosen for the Hunger Games—got chosen to _die?_

But I humour her. "Nothing."

"Sounds fun!" she replies, and then bursts into laughter like she's said something funny. Rolling my eyes, I turn away and look at the Peacekeepers pleadingly. Dying right now doesn't sound as bad as it did when my mom was in here, crying and hugging me and telling me just to do my best.

"So how _are_ you?"

"Not good," I sigh.

"Oh dear!" she exclaims. "Why not?"

Deep inside, I want to tell her to screw off. Stop talking to me. Shut the effing hell up. I've made it clear for years how I'm not interested, and yet she still goes on about what she wants to name our children. (If you're wondering, apparently they'll be named Samantha and Little Zed.)

"Victoria," I mutter. "Do you know where we are? Yes? Then you know why I'm not doing so fantastic right now."

There's silence for a moment. I think I've finally got to her. Maybe now she'll completely ignore me and believe I'm an asshole and won't talk to me for the remainder of my life—which, to be honest, can't be long. But in the next moment she gasps and says softly, "I know you're scared, Zed."

"I'm not scared. I wouldn't say that—"

"No." When she cuts me off, I see she's suddenly gotten angry. "I _know_ you're scared. Scared what this competition will do to us. But, Zed, I'll be here, all right? If you need to talk or whatever, just come to my room; tell me what's on your mind. In fact, you can do that if nothing is even on your mind. Let's just talk about stuff."

I rub my temples.

She doesn't get it.

"I don't want an ally," I say. "I don't want a partner in these games—"

"Other than me!" I try to speak, but she continues to cut off my words. "Oh my _gosh_ that is so sweet. I was thinking the same thing! It'll be really great! The two of us, fighting careers." She makes a few hand motions like she's pretending to hold a weapon. "We'll get sponsors!"

I freeze. Something is honestly wrong with her.

Before I can start swearing at her, the Peacekeepers finally come and take us away, off to the train and to our rooms where I lock my door and go straight for the shower so I don't hear Victoria knocking repeatedly on my door.

If I'm lucky, she'll die before I do.

**A/N: As I was writing this I realized just how annoying I made Victoria out to be. But I guess that's a good thing, because she's supposed to be that way. But she means well. She really does.**

**Anywaaaaays, review? (: **


	12. District Eleven Reaping

**A/N: Today I wrote a written response essay, and I didn't notice until my teacher pointed out, that I had spelt "capital" as "Capitol", and had made the C an uppercase and everything.**

**But on with the story!**

**Violet Crouse's POV**

So I guess this was it. My final goodbye. My final goodbye to my parents.

I hug my mother, and then my father. Only my mom has tears in her eyes—my dad has a weird look on his face, like he can't decide whether to be worried or proud or a mixture of the two.

I probably have the same look. It isn't like I have no chance—to be honest; I'm actually pretty damn good at martial arts—but it isn't like I have a big opening of winning against those careers. They'll almost certainly take one look at me and already decide which way to squash me with their big feet.

"We love you," my mom says, and touches the pendant around my neck. If it had been anyone else touching my pendant, their arm would be dislocating by now. "You can do it. For us. And for your sister."

Not saying anything, I nod once. What my mom said, and my pendant, should be enough to keep me going—for a while, at least. My sister, the one who had given me this pendant, had died a little bit ago from a sickness brought on from insects infesting our crops. She hadn't been working, herself, she'd been too young. But somehow it transferred over to her, and now—well—you get the point.

Now, my dad has a brave look on. Like, _You Probably Won't Survive, But We'll Hope._ "Violet—don't give up. Ever."

"I won't." I hug him; breathe in his familiar scent of leather and some sort of crop I can never identify—it changes every time—and then the Peacekeepers come to take him and my mother away. I sit back in my chair and think about what just happened. I'm in the Hunger Games. Me, Violet Crouse, in the Hunger Games.

I glance across the room at the boy tribute chosen. He's very pudgy with bright red hair and is just half my size. He's sunburned, and from what I've gathered he's only twelve years old. I wonder how much he has to work, out in the hot sun, when this is only his first reaping. How much terrasae could he have so that his name was drawn?

"Good luck," I tell him. His name's Trawny Heightson—his last name being sort of ironic—and I smile at him a little, to encourage him. It's obvious he has no chance. Fighting against the careers? Forget it. Running? Definitely not. Even holding a weapon? No way.

"Thanks," he says, so quietly I can barely hear him. He hasn't looked up since we were lead into this room by the Peacekeepers. He had no visitors and I hadn't heard him refuse any, so, feeling sort of bad, in the spur of the moment, I say, "You really need an ally, don't you?"

At first there's no reply. And then, slowly, he nods. "I don't know if you want to be my ally, though."

"It's okay," I say. "What _can_ you do?"

He shrugs. "I dunno. I'm good at surviving."

"Oh." I blink a few times. "Well, of course you are, otherwise I don't think you'd be here right now."

"And medical stuff."

I nod. "All righty. We'll work with that."

But, really, there isn't much to work with here.

I just made one of the biggest mistakes I could've made.

I allied with the weakest.

* * *

**Trawny Heightson's POV**

I've lived in the orphanage since both my parents died, out in the field. Nobody really knows how they died. Some say it was from disease. Others say it was from just working too hard. I don't know which, but I know the Capitol was the cause of it.

So when I get called up for a tribute, I know that the Capitol will be the cause of my death, too.

I see some of the other kids from the orphanage looking up at me. None of them actually cared much about me. Most just ignored whatever I said or did when I tried to be their friends, because I was, and still am, pretty chubby and fat and all of that. Oh, well. I guess now I don't have to put up with them.

I look at the girl who got chosen. She's tall with straight black hair down her back, and tanned. She's sixteen. She doesn't look afraid, exactly. Maybe anxious. Or nervous. I can't really tell. But definitely not afraid.

The only thing that makes her stand out is the pendant around her neck. It's really shiny and reflects the sun so brightly I can't tell what color it's supposed to be. But as we enter the Justice Building and there's not as much light, I realize it's gold.

I get no visitors, which isn't surprising. Who would come from the orphanage to see _me? _I wasn't really a favourite—I couldn't work out in the sun as much as the other kids did, because I have a low stamina—and I'm sure the woman who took care of us all will be glad she doesn't need to have another person in her house to worry about.

"Good luck," the girl, named Violet, says, once all her visitors are gone. What looked like to be her parents were the only people to come visit her. They only stayed for less than five minutes before the Peacekeepers came, which I don't think was very fair.

I'm staring at my feet. "Thanks."

She doesn't say anything for a second. I think we're done. Never to talk again. But then, surprising me more than if someone had just told me I've won the games already, she says, "You really need an ally, don't you?"

I do. Of course I do. This is a stupid question to even consider asking. Look at me. I can't hold weapons. I can't run. The only thing I've learned to do in the past years is survive with what I have—heal other people's wounds. I'm actually very good at healing other people's wounds, so I tell her so.

She tells me we'll just work with that and then turns to face the wall. There's a faraway look in her eyes, and she's biting her bottom lip. She's already regretting telling me anything. Talking to me in the first place.

I'll save her the pain, I decide, and tell her I don't have to be her ally once we get on the train and meet our mentors and escort. It isn't that I don't want an ally like her. Obviously, I want an ally like her. But with me she won't last long. The least I could do is let _someone _from our district win.

And, with my death nearing me, the Peacekeepers take us off to the train.

**A/N: So, besides your own characters, who do you guys think will win this thing?**


	13. District Twelve Reaping

**Caitlin Gish's POV**

My parents come to visit me in the Justice Building, and they're both crying, but I try and stay strong. Well, okay, I'm crying a little. But that's only a little. Really, with the small amount of tears coming out, I don't think it should even count as _crying. _

"Stop sobbing, dear," my mother says. She pats my hair down to my head. "You have talents."

"Yes you do!" my dad pipes in. "You're a very pretty girl, Caitlin, and remember how you convince me to do just about anything? Use that."

I wipe my nose on my sleeve. They're right. I'm convincing. And pretty. And smart, I guess. If I work at it, maybe I could do it. Win it.

"Thanks," I say to them, and fluff out my dress a bit. It's a nice dress. Black with sleeves that hang down my wrists and poofs out at the knees—with my light hair, some people says it looks strange, but I really think it just looks dramatic and cool. "I'll win, I suppose."

"Good!" My mom pulls me in for about our hundredth hug within the past two minutes. My dad joins us, and we all go into a big group hug, me crying (like I said, just a _little_) into my dad's shoulder. I don't want to leave my life here. It may be District Twelve, but I have a good life, compared to some of the other people in the district. My family isn't poor. My parents are merchants. I don't know how I'd survive if I died in the games.

When the damn Peacekeepers come and take my parents away, I sit back in the completely crappy chair they've provided for me to sit in. It's some icky brownish colour and has an uncomfortable woody feel to it—probably because it's made out of wood or something—and I swing my legs off the edge. They don't reach the ground.

I'm only twelve, how am I supposed to win this?

Then I catch the gaze of the boy tribute's. He's fifteen, with blond hair that sticks out everywhere. What, he doesn't have a brush? I guess not, because he looks pretty poor. Earlier, I saw him hugging three little girls. One was around my age, I think, but all of them had the same color hair he did. His mom was there, too, but no dad had come to see him off.

But he looks kind of strong. And his legs are long. Good at running, maybe?

As he turns to face me, his sleeve rolls up his arm and I catch the sight of a scar that goes all the way up his forearm. It's one of the biggest scars I've ever seen, and I can feel my eyes widen at the sight of it. Where did he get _that_ from?

He's about to say something but I interrupt and flick my hair over my shoulder. "Allies?"

For a second, he's silent. He can't deny me, can he? We're _district partners. _Imagine how that would look in front of the Capitol. The Gamemakers wouldn't like him. They would kill him, if the Capitol didn't favour him, wouldn't they? But soon enough this guy with the sticky-outty hair—I don't know his name, since he volunteered for this younger boy—says, "All right. Sure."

My dad was right. I am pretty convincing. And he had those younger sisters—he looked like he cared about them, too. Maybe I could use that to my advantage. Maybe he'll think of me as his little sister. Maybe he won't want to kill me. And I'll just have to kill him first.

Despite what I said earlier, I think I may have a chance at this.

* * *

**Krow Haliss's POV**

Shrike's little brother gets picked. I don't know how this happened, since he's still young and I don't think their wealthier family has any terrasae, but it did. And Shrike is sitting beside me, right now, looking around desperately and saying, "Oh my _god, _somebody, do something, he's only twelve!"

Shrike looks nice today in this pink dress that brings out her golden eyes. And so what I do next is just a moment of bravery—a moment where I'm not really thinking—a moment where I think I might finally grab her attention. Finally. After all these years of waiting.

"I volunteer for tribute!"

Everyone turns to look at me. Including Shrike. She looks stunned. I doubt she knows my name, and so, swallowing, I walk to the stage with the most serious expression I can get. I'm not sure how it looks. But it can't really be that serious, judging by how much my legs are shaking.

When I get up to the stage, I look out to the Thirteens and see my little sister, Amelia, shaking her head up at me and crying. I turn to the Fifteens section, where Shrike is, because I can't stand the sight of Amelia staring at me like that. But Shrike's not even looking at me. She's hugging her friend.

I'm hoping she comes and visits me before I go off to my death, but then my mother and my three little sisters leave the Justice Building after a very emotional and sad goodbye, and nobody else enters. I know if my mother can't support my three sisters without me, my friend Tylan who comes hunting with me will help her out. We have that deal—we'll take care of each others' families if anything were to happen.

Anything: like being picked for tribute.

Shrike doesn't visit, after all. After I saved her little brother's life, she doesn't come and say thank you. Or goodbye, for that matter. I have no way of telling her how I've felt about her for so many years—and I doubt she realizes it, even after I volunteered for her brother.

I sink back into my seat until the girl tribute clears her throat loudly and deliberately. I look over at her, a tiny twelve year old girl with really fair hair, which she tosses over one of her bony shoulders. As I rearrange myself on the chair my sleeve catches on a splinter of wood and gets pulled up. I can tell she sees the scar when her eyes suddenly widen.

I got that scar a few years ago, when I first went hunting and got attacked by a wild dog. That was when I was twelve. Now, that same wild dog is perfectly tamed and follows me around and helps me hunt—I've named him Hunter, appropriately. But I choose not to tell her how I got this scar, nor anyone else, and open my mouth to tell her good luck when she cuts me off.

"Allies?"

This is what I was afraid of. Allying with this girl wouldn't be to my advantage. She looks like she could run, maybe, and be persuasive, but other than that—well—nothing I could think of. But she's tiny and without any allies she'd be completely and utterly helpless. And so what I do next is like the moment when I volunteered for Shrike's brother—probably won't turn out for the best, but I do it anyways, because she's the same age of my sister.

"All right. Sure."

Dammit. If it wasn't for me liking Shrike, I wouldn't even be here right now. With this little girl, the age of my sister, agreeing to be her ally.

And you'd think after I just committed suicide, basically, the person who caused it would have the decency to say goodbye.

**A/N: I'm bursting with excitement right now. We're done the reapings. We're halfway to the games! Plus, this is when it really starts to get interesting. ;]**

**Oh, and now that the chapters are getting longer, I won't be updating two chapters a day. I'll try to get one in every day, depending on the amount of homework I have. **


	14. The Robster

**A/N: The chariot rides won't last too long. For every character that doesn't have a POV in the chariot rides will have a POV in the interviews. **

**Annnnd, the POVs will get longer as we go along.**

**Marina's POV (District Two)**

The stylists have made me out to be something I don't even recognize. I'm wearing a long white gown that reflects every bit of light that hits me. They've died my hair from dirty blonde to a darker brown, and my eyes are now greener than they were before. Emeralds, almost.

Trafford is in a matching white suit, which, although looks really nice on him, I don't know how we're representing the district of medicine. Maybe the white stands for something? Who knows? Does it really matter? These outfits will definitely catch the eye of the Capitol.

"_Perrrrfect_," the stylist I've been assigned to, Laurie, purrs. She reminds me highly of a cat. "Just perfect. TOUCH-UPS!" The three people who plucked every hair from my body appear from out of nowhere and start brushing more makeup onto my face, hairspray a few strands of my curly-ish hair to my head, and then disappear again.

Trafford is already perfect, apparently, because _he_ doesn't need any touch-ups.

Since the day of the reaping, I've learnt a lot about Trafford. One is that he has some sympathy in him, unlike most of the other careers in this competition, and another is that he has horrible aim.

Well, I guess I haven't learned _a lot_ about him, but I suppose it's the same difference.

That day on the train we were also introduced to our mentors. They were two guys, with seemingly a lot of conflict among each other. Paolo and Tarlin—they won two consecutive years, Paolo's being first. And since Trafford and I decided to be trained and coached separately, we each got our pick—Trafford obviously thought he got first pick, because he got Tarlin and I got stuck with Paolo.

Paolo's the arrogant, obnoxious, always-hung-over-and-wasted one.

In fact, as soon as he saw me, he rolled his eyes and took a puff out of the cigar hanging out the side of his mouth, saying, "Another freaking hopeful. I wish they would just all freaking give up already."

I found it a bit offensive, to tell you the truth.

"Turn, turn!" Laurie says, now. I turn, and the white gown catches the light and is really, really bright—even to me. I squint, and Trafford, who is leaning against the back wall, groans and looks away. "Bee-you-tee-_full_," Laurie sighs and claps her hands together. "_Darrrrling_, you two are ready for the chariots."

* * *

**Tiffany's POV (District One)**

The red dress I'm wearing has a bunch of ruby-looking gems on it, with big sleeves that hang down almost to my knees. If I had been wearing _this_ dress when Abigail and I had been comparing our outfits, it's clear I would've won it. In fact, I'll make sure to blow a kiss to the cameras while we're in the chariots, just for her.

Keith has matching ruby pants on with no shirt. He doesn't need it. I'm sure the Capitol will love him as much without it, maybe more, because what's under his shirt is—well—_impressive_, if you know what I mean. Which I'm sure you do. Otherwise you're not that smart. No offence.

But when I see Keith, he doesn't make eye contact with me. He stares out into the space ahead of him; it appears that he wants nothing to do with me at all. This was how it was on the train ride here—we had a mentor named Ledger, who is more evil than Keith is. He insisted our two female victors would be the only two to mentor me, and he would be the only one to mentor Keith, end of story. Keith, of course, agreed.

I've realized that, considering I have no chance against Keith or those District Four tributes, I'm going to have to rely on being devious and people underestimating me. Jara, my favourite out of the two female mentors, says that this is my best approach at the games since I'm not the best at weapons.

She won a few years ago, so I'll have to just trust her.

I haven't made allies yet, and I'm not sure when I plan on it. Maybe during training or something. But as we ride the chariot, Keith and I, standing on completely separate sides and acting as if we don't even know each other, smiling and waving for the cameras and me blowing that extra kiss for Abigail while I twirl in my dress, I realize if I can get sponsors, what does it matter if I have allies? Sponsors are like allies, basically, aren't they? They help you out. Kinda.

I'm wondering what Keith and I looked like out there as I come off the stage. We hadn't been paying any attention to each other, despite what our stylist, Lattley had said earlier.

"Don't be strangers. You're a weird pair; embrace it to the rest of the Capitol. They'll enjoy that."

We hadn't embraced it.

"I like your dress."

I turn around and see the small girl from District Twelve looking at me. She's dressed in all black with dark makeup, which I find is one of the stupidest choices her stylist could possibly make, considering the lightness of her hair. They could have at least dyed her hair or something.

"Thanks," I say, and move so the rubies catch some of the lighting above us. Just to show it off.

She smiles and walks off to the elevator. She would be a cute little kid. Without the dark makeup. And the I'm-all-that attitude.

Whatever. I'll beat her in these games.

* * *

**Robert Lark's POV**

Mara still scares me a little. She's skinny. She hasn't gained any weight since we got here—and she's eaten _a lot_ since the first day on the train. For the chariot ride she wears this red, short dress that has a big red bow tied at the back that brings out red specks in her eyes, and it makes her look more frightening.

My stylist, Hart, doesn't seem to like me. He says I'm ignorant to the reality of the situation when I tell him that the way they did my hair is all wrong—it looks much better down than up. In the end he makes the other three weird-coloured-skin freaks put my hair down because, and I quote, he "can't stand to listen to my little boy voice complaining about his hair anymore."

_Moron._

When I win the games and my "little boy voice" is talking to all the districts about my noble victory, he'll see how wrong he is about me.

As we're leaving for the chariot ride, I'm telling him in detail how I do my hair at home and how it's always down and how all these girls are lining up for me. Like Madi. But in the end, when I'm telling him about Madi and all that, he starts yelling at me, right in front of Mara and the tributes from Districts Three and Eleven.

"I can't work with you!" He throws his hands in the air. I sigh. This is always happening to me. Jealousy. But I let him go on. "Get out of my face! I'm not designing your outfit for the interview! You think I'm doing anything for you?"

I sigh again. "Look, Hart—"

"And if you start talking about yourself in third person again, calling yourself the _Robster_, I swear I will walk out _right now_."

"Hart, I can't help it. Don't judge me for who The Robster is—"

He storms off.

**A/N: Short, I know, but I fell asleep and woke up with a page written, and since I have two tests tomorrow I sort of need to study.**

**Sooo I promise the next chapter will be longer.**

**My school only goes to noon tomorrow, soo woo! (:**


	15. Just Too Easy

**A/N: I have a few characters I have planned for the interviews, which is why I won't put them in the chariot rides. I'll describe everyone, though, and the training days will be somewhat mixed, characters who already have POVs or not.**

**Trawny's POV (District Eleven)**

To be honest, I don't know what we're dressed like. I'm in a grass-woven shirt and some shorts, and that's about it. Violet's in this floaty dress that goes down to her knees, with tiny little sunflowers designed on it. Her hair is pulled back behind her in a braid and she has a grass head band that matches my shirt. At one point when we're on the chariots, she puts her arm around my shoulders, like a little-brother big-sister thing. Our mentor, Fred, suggested it.

And I agreed, because do I really have anything else to lose right now?

When we come off from the chariots, Violet smiles nicely at me and then goes off to talk to the boy tribute from District Eight. That day on the train, I hadn't been able to tell her she didn't have to be my ally, because she, apparently, already had a strategy: Get everyone to trust us, and then backstab them.

It's overplayed and all, but sometimes it works, doesn't it?

I'm about to turn around to go to the elevator and back up to our room—I know Violet and I looked good on those chariots, the Capitol might like us, maybe even favour us–but I'm tired from being made-over by the stylists today. They didn't want to do anything too drastic 'cause that might've ruined my little guy image. But still. It's tiring.

I bump into someone, full force, and fall down on my back.

"Watch where you're going," a voice growls.

I look up to see the girl from District Four, Ariel, glaring down at me. Her black hair is in big curls down past her chest, and she's dressed in this mermaid outfit, complete with really sparkly green scales down her legs and a diamond and pearl tiara in her hair. I guess the stylist didn't get much of a chance to meet her before picking this outfit out, because Ariel is completely evil, and the whole mermaid thing doesn't suit her personality at all.

"Sorry," I mumble, and stand up and brush off my long shorts. Nothing got on them, but I don't want to look up at Ariel.

"I'd hope so for your sake, chipmunk" she shoots back at me, and stomps off to her district partner who has this net with a knot as his costume. Apparently this is what one of his relatives wore the year they won the games. Ariel and the guy with the net—Alexander, I think his name is—are fighting before she even reaches him, and Alexander doesn't seem to be getting a word in when he finally walks away to the elevator, followed by Ariel, and pushes the button.

They both get in, Ariel still yelling in his ear, but he doesn't seem to hear her anymore.

"Don't let her get to you," Violet says from behind me. I turn around to face her and shift awkwardly. "She's a career, but she's more out for Alexander than she is anyone else."

Violet's right, but I don't know what to say to her, so I don't say anything. Her pendant is hanging around her neck—the one she wore at the reaping—and I still haven't gotten up to asking her why she wears it all the time. On the train to the Capitol she didn't let anyone else touch it, and when our mentor tried to ask about it she got defensive and claimed it was nobody else's business but her own.

Fred had backed off then because Violet showed us some of her moves in martial arts, and they were pretty impressive.

Although, Fred's pretty strong, too; he had won the games ten years ago when he was seventeen by hiding out and separating the careers. He even got in behind the camp and killed two of them in their sleep, while someone was on guard on the other side of the area. District Eleven hasn't had a victory since his, but Fred says that this year that'll change. That Violet and I stand a chance.

To be honest, I don't agree.

* * *

**Ariel's POV (District Four)**

On my way to Alexander I knock into the little chubby brat from District Eleven. He falls over on his ass and rolls around a bit because he's so stubby, and I mutter a few words before going on to yell at my idiotic district partner.

We'd gotten separated coming off the chariots—the stupid career from Six had an urgent message for me that couldn't wait, and dragged me behind her just to ask me if I would be allies with her. I said no, of course, and then stormed off to find Alexander.

He's standing at the back, leaning against the wall and talking and smiling at the chick from Three—the one who volunteered, but still has no chance. I want to ask him if he actually thinks of allying with her, but instead get straight to the point, and immediately begin to swear.

This makes the girl from Three roll her eyes and walk away, but I ignore her. I'll deal with _her_ later.

"Why the _hell _would you do that?" I demand, and shove his shoulders. He has this knowing smirk on his face I want to slap off, but I don't want to draw too much attention to us. And by the time the games begin, I'll be tearing him piece by piece, limb by limb, until the Capitol really, truly understands what he did was fake on his part.

"Do what?" he asks. Like he doesn't know.

"Oh, do what my _ass_."

"Ariel." He sighs. "It was for the Capitol. Calm down, will you? What's the big deal?"

"Now," I say between my teeth, "they expect more from us. We'll lose sponsors because of that holding-my-hand incident, because I can't guarantee that'll happen again. What happened to the other image? What happened to _at-each-others'-throats?_"

"I thought this would be a better approach, at first."

"You didn't consult _me_ about that, now did you?"

"I did not, no." Alexander begins to walk away from me, and I'm so insulted that he would have the nerve to do this I follow him and scream after him, "Stop! You can't just _do_ that!" We've gained the attention of most of the districts as we enter the elevator, but I just readjust the crown on my head for show and continue saying, "Next time you do that, I will literally rip your throat apart."

This, obviously, couldn't be more true.

In fact, I was already planning on ripping his throat apart.

I had just thought it would be _after_ the games officially begun.

* * *

**Cheyenne's POV (District Three)**

I'm dressed in a plain grey tunic top that only makes it a tiny bit past my waist, and then the outfit is completed with midnight black tights with little sparkles in it, like stars. My hair is perfectly messy and down past the middle of my back, and my stylist has chosen to do my makeup dark and smoky. I match Connor—he's in a ripped up grey shirt with tears here and there, and light grey jeans. The grey, I'm guessing, is representing the manufacturing part of District Three.

On the chariot our stylists had ordered us to smile—be energetic to the crowd—rather than the approach of some of the other districts, like Twelve, who just stood there and looked into the distance. I think this was a bad choice. Nobody was going to remember their black clothing, their distant stares.

"That was great." Connor grins at me as I fan myself. This dress is pretty thick. I'm sweating just standing here.

"It was," I agree. The crowd loved us. I blew kisses to them, they blew kisses back, really, I couldn't think of us not getting sponsors.

"You know," he says slowly. "I think I might have a chance."

I force out a smile back. Of course he thinks he has a chance. He has a girlfriend he wants to go home to. Why wouldn't he think that? The truth is _I _have a better chance at the Hunger Games than he does—I'm more athletic, and positive, and clever at most times. Like on the train, when we were thinking up strategies, Connor's was to get in with the careers.

Really. One of the worst ideas I could possibly imagine for the two of us having.

"Cheyenna, right?" a voice suddenly says from behind me.

Connor rolls his eyes before saluting me sarcastically and going towards the elevator. I turn to see the District Four career, Alexander, standing there in his net and knot and leaning against the wall.

"It's Cheyenne, actually," I reply. Ugh. _Cheyenna. _

"Well." He smiles at me, revealing a perfectly white set of teeth. "Hello, Cheyenne."

"Hello, Alexander," I say, perfectly composed. "How are you?"

"Good. Confident. Excited. And you?"

"Real peachy."

He smiles again. "Peachy. Sounds like you're having a great time."

"I—"

"Alexander, I swear to _god_ I'm going to—" A chorus of swear words rings out from behind me, and I turn slightly and see the girl from District Four, Ariel, out of the corner of my eye. She looks angry, so I decide it's my time to leave. And so I do, walking away without saying goodbye to Alexander, because I'm not in the mood to get in between some of my biggest competition right now.

And, besides. He called me Cheyenna.

* * *

**Liam's POV (District Six)**

As soon as Nikole and I get off the chariots she runs off to talk to Ariel Peffer. The train ride with her was absolute hell and horror—I really don't know how she has any friends back in District Six. She complained to our two mentors Jasper and Heidi, and to our escort, about how much she hated me, when I was sitting in the same room. She complained how I kept bringing up honey, and how that made her sick. I could tell all of them were really just holding in laughter the whole story by the way their lips stayed pursed.

Nikole and I are dressed scientifically, appropriately, for our district, in lab suits and goggles and all. She was appalled when our stylists revealed these outfits. I went with it, because it suited me—me, actually having my head full with a brain. Nikole must have been disgusted because she was lacking one.

"Liam Holloway?"

The guy from District Five is standing behind me. He's tall and semi-muscular. Longish black hair. Weird, greenish yellowish eyes that give me the shivers. His chariot outfit is pelts of fur piled on top of one another which would weigh any other person down.

From his first impression I'll have to guess he's here to—

"Odyss Fairmount." He sticks out his hand, which I give a shake.

As always, I was correct.

"A pleasure," I lie.

He nods. "You're from District Six. You're smart."

Then he goes on a bit about his life story, ya ya ya, how he wants to be allies. Usually, aren't these requests supposed to go through the mentors? But I respect his backbone for confronting me face-to-face and say yes, I will be his ally, because during the games he'll hopefully be the one to take my bullets for me.

These people are making my victory just too easy.

**A/N: Reviews make me update faster (; Sooo please review? **


	16. Short Stuff

**A/N: We're almost to the training sessions. One more short chapter. Another step closer to the games!**

**Also, someone mentioned that in CF District Twelve was blown up. It was, but I just really wanted a District Twelve in my fanfiction and so, although it sounds terrible, we'll pretend for now there was never a rebellion after The Hunger Games, and District Twelve was never obliterated. **

**Bambi's POV (District Nine)**

It's when I get off from the chariots that Robert comes up to me. I heard him yelling at his stylist, earlier, referring to himself as The Robster, so I'm not exactly excited when he flips his hair back and says, "Hey, sweetheart."

I'm in these short shorts with a butterfly on the side, and a shirt that flows outwards and is decorated with other butterflies. My stylist was inspired by this design, apparently, from my reaping dress—the green one with the dull butterfly print on it. He thought it would be ironic considering District Nine is the hunting district.

"Hey, short stuff."

_The Robster_ looks at me with a smirk on his face. Like, _come-on._ I smirk back. Like, _go-away. _But he doesn't get the message.

"Don't be hating!"

"I'm not hating. You're just short. I never said there was something wrong with being shorter than the rest of us, did I?"

I can tell I'm pissing him off to the third degree, so I relish in that and start to walk away. But he follows me, almost struggling to keep up since my legs are longer than his. "Since the girl from my district stands no chance, do you want to be allies?"

"Allies with The Robster?" I say. "I'm surprised you would even have to ask."

"So then—"

"So then... no." I don't want to get this fourteen-year-old's hopes up or anything. He _is_ going to die soon, and I may be the one to kill him. So I continue to walk towards the elevator without making eye contact with Robert. He would be a cute kid, sorta, if it wasn't for all the arrogance.

"Fine! But in the games don't expect me to take pity on you!"

"Never did." I enter the elevator alone, because Nicholas is still somewhere else I don't really have time for—I just need to strategize right now, decide who I really want for allies in this game. "But remember—" The elevator doors are closing, so I have to talk fast to make him hear me. "—that works both ways."

On my way to my room I'm contemplating the advantages of siding with the District Fours. Maybe even the guy from District One, or the District Twos. I haven't thought about it too much yet—my mentor says I'd be better off with District Fours than with someone like Nicholas, because I'll stand a better chance, but I don't know. I saw Alexander and Ariel fighting earlier. Do I want to be in the middle of that all of the time?

I take a deep breath as the elevator doors open and let me out. It doesn't matter. Whatever I do, I'm going to win. For Lilly. And, before I go into that arena, I'm going to look at that Ledger Freitzman and see if he's really as tough as they made him out to be on the television, when he viciously killed my sister.

* * *

**Odyss's POV (District Five)**

When I get off the chariot with Ebony I realize that without allies, I'm going to die. I can't die. I have my sisters and mother back at home that need me—I can't leave them—I can't let them see my defeat on the television, and so as Ebony goes off to talk to the girl from District Seven—they had been discussing the use of weapons, earlier, while I stood awkwardly beside her and the guy from District Seven dozed off a little on his own shoulder—I don't follow.

I look around the room. I see all the districts, and when I walk the fur that my stylist has layered on me flaps around my legs. But I don't slow down. I don't want to wait to talk to our mentors about this situation. I want to make allies. Now.

My eye stops on the fifteen-year-old from District Six, who is wearing a lab coat. He has goggles on top of his head and is standing in the corner, ditched by his district partner, apparently. He's probably the smartest in this game right now—I can just tell by the way he stares at the crowd, his lips pursed and eyes crinkled in deep thought.

As I approach him I tower over him by a few inches, and when he looks up at me I say, "Odyss Fairmount," and stick my hand out to him. He shakes it, still looking deep in thought.

"A pleasure," he says. I nod, not wanting to say this back to him, and so I give him a compliment about his district being one of the smartest, and how I want to ally with him to protect my sister Jacklyn, and possibly Ebony, for as long as I can. But when Ebony's time comes, it comes; I can't do much about that.

"Sounds like a plan," he tells me with a bit of a smile, a bit of a scowl, all in one. "We'll be allies, then."

We shake hands again before I go off to find Ebony. Herbanthi, our escort, pointed out that if we appeared like we cared about each other as much as we would care for our siblings then we could possibly be a favourite of the Capitol. But during the chariot ride, although the crowd did love us, it was clear that District Eleven had the same idea. The two of them rode around like brother and sister.

Personally, though, I think Ebony and I looked just as good as they did. Maybe even better.

If I could find some more allies, get some more sponsors...

Well, I just might see Jacklyn again.

* * *

**Ryli's POV (District Seven)**

Bridger's first impression on me was horrible. He denied me of being allies. That, alone, was enough to make me hate him, but the way he casually ate dinner on the train and didn't talk much to me or our mentor or escort—and when he did it was either how exhausted he was or how stupid the Capitol is—well, I hate him more now, despite his good look.

And when I tried to talk to the cute little Thirteen from District Five, he literally fell asleep. Yeah. _Fell asleep. _In the middle of a conversation. And only when I slapped him a little did he wake up, mumbling something incoherent about pancakes.

But I saw him chatting to the girl from District Two—Marina, or whatever her name is. He was smiling. _Smiling. _Bridger, _smiling. _Even I don't smile during the games, and I don't see why he should be an exception. He's more pessimistic than I am.

And that girl Nikole from District Six was flirting with him. He didn't seem to even think much about _that_ though, because the next moment he was asking her if she really is as stupid as she comes across or is she just acting for the sake of the games?

I'm trying to wiggle out of my uncomfortable chariot outfit (a dull brown dress with bright lights embedded into it, like a decorated tree) when the girl from Eight comes up to me and informs me she likes my dress before quickly walking away. I probably would've made a bit of conversation with her, too, if she wasn't walking so fast.

And I really do need allies. The only person I've met since I've gotten here, besides Bridger, was that Ebony girl and her district partner Odyss—but him only vaguely, and I can see him talking to Liam from District Six right now. I could go into the games alone, it's not like it hasn't been done before, and with the Cornucopia being hidden it may be more of a likelihood that I could win.

But do I really want that?

I hesitate a little before getting into the elevator. Tomorrow, I'll decide about the ally thing, during training, if I come across anyone I might want. Then I'll just tell my mentor to sort it out.

Or however way else the games work.

Which I guess I'm about to find out.

**A/N: Thank you to eeeeevvveryone who has been reviewing my story so far! You don't know how much I appreciate that. Keep reviewing please with a cherry on top (:**


	17. Hard To Get

**Krow's POV (District Twelve)**

The chariot ride—although strange—was a success. Caitlin was dressed as smoke and coal, in a dark black dress, while I was dressed as fire, with this loose golden shirt that appeared as flames when it caught in the wind. Caitlin and I held hands during the ride, as directed by our mentor, and for a split second I wondered what Shrike was thinking back home. If it wasn't for me, her little brother would be up in that chariot.

But now, going down the elevator to the training floor, I wonder if she's even thinking of me at all. She didn't know who I was, back in District Twelve. She probably doesn't know who I am now, either—just a poor kid who volunteered for her little brother.

Caitlin is wearing a ridiculous dress—for _training. _Some kind of black material that has a bunch of ruffles. That dress cost as much as a week of food for my entire family, most likely, and maybe even more.

"Tell me who you two would like for allies," our mentor, Gregg, says. His eyes are half-closed with big blue bags underneath. He's at least fifty, and since the day we met him back on the train he always looks like he needs more sleep. "Get strategies."

Gregg won many _many_ years ago—I'm not sure how; I wasn't alive when the games had played. All the information he's told me and Caitlin about his victory is that he was only fifteen and used a strange approach to the games, something about brains over brawns mumbled quietly while we ate dinner on the train, but before he could finish the story he fell asleep. Nobody bothered asking him to bring it up again.

As soon as we hit the training floor and the elevator doors open to the wide area—everything from camouflage to throwing knives—Caitlin rushes over to the knife throwing section. I'm wondering why until she leans against the wall, twirls a strand of light hair around her finger, and starts chatting up the guy, Nicholas Parks, from District Nine.

I'm already good with a knife, so I don't follow Caitlin's lead. Instead I go over to the area where they teach you about edible plants, because out in the forest or desert or frozen wasteland I wouldn't be as good as some of the other tributes. There's only three other people, Mara from District Eight and Ebony and Odyss from District Five. None of us speak to each other besides The Fives' whispers as the teacher shows us pictures of poisonous berries and plants—there's a wide arrangement from cactuses to a weed in the ground, and by lunch I think I have a stronger grip on it all.

The careers have bonded over the first training session—they've pushed some tables together, and I note my competition includes both from Four and Two, the boy from One, the girl from Four and the girl from Nine—who doesn't seem to be enjoying herself too much, pushing her food around her plate with her fork. There are a few outcasts—some sit with their district partner—but Caitlin is sitting with the guy from Nine and still twirling her hair. So I sit down, alone, at a table.

"Is this seat taken?"

It's Mara, from Eight, her blonde hair in her eyes. I look around for Robert from Eight but he's standing behind the careers, like he wants to fit in but doesn't. So I shake my head at Mara and gesture to a chair. "Go ahead."

"Great." She sits down, her chair scraping against the aluminum floor. I don't look at her; just shovel food into my mouth. The food here is really good. Better than I've ever been privileged with. "It's Krow, right?"

I nod.

"Edible plants, eh?"

I nod again. What am I supposed to say, anyways?

We're joined by the two tributes from Three—Cheyenne and Connor. Cheyenne looks pretty strong; she may even have a chance against the careers, so I'm not sure why she wouldn't be sitting with them. Connor, though, doesn't look like he has a lot of time left.

"I love the food here," Mara continues. She's trying to make conversation.

"It's good," Cheyenne agrees, and tosses her hair over her shoulder. Connor gives a short nod to show he also agrees, but his mouth is too full of potatoes to respond.

From across the room I hear someone beginning to scream, and we all turn to look at the careers' table. The guy from Four, named Alexander, is getting up with his hands in the air, like to say he surrenders, while the girl from Four, Ariel, is yelling something I can't hear from across the room. Alexander, ignoring Ariel, comes toward our table, sits down beside me and across from Cheyenne, and puts his head in his hands.

All of us look at each other, confused.

"This is bull," he groans into the table. "I never signed up for this. I signed up for fame and glory and unlimited money. Not _this._"

"Not what?" Cheyenne asks, and takes a sip of her drink.

"Cheyenna, please don't act so clueless."

"Call me Cheyenna one more time."

"Cheyenna, Cheyenna, Cheyenna."

Mara, Connor and I are looking at the two of them, still confused. Nobody bothers to explain.

"Jerk," Cheyenne says, dumps her ice water over Alexander's head, and storms out of the cafeteria. All is silent; I don't think anyone is even breathing when Alexander says, more to the table than to any of us, "Think I still have a chance with her, or what? 

* * *

**Victoria's POV (District Ten)**

Zed is really hot. I mean, not only during the chariot rides, when the two of us were dressed in these ridiculous rainbow-coloured outfits that had nothing to do with mathematics, at all, but right now while he throws spears at a target dummy, his arm muscles rippling slightly with each toss—

And that, right there, is my future husband.

He turns around and looks at the instructor who gives him some tips on throwing the spears. He shows him the right way to throw it, the right way to aim it, and then Zed is throwing spears and hitting the dummies in all the places that would make them die and stuff like there's no tomorrow. The instructor and I look on at him, impressed.

"That's great!" I say, once he's finished, wiping sweat from his brow. "Now, my turn!"

I pick up a spear and throw it at a dummy, but it goes a bit off target and hits its foot. Not going to get discouraged, I pick up another one and throw it, too, but this one hits the wall behind the dummy. Well, close enough.

"Concentrate," the instructor tells me.

Who does he think he is, bossing me around? How does he know I'm not already concentrating?

"I _am_," I growl, and throw another. It hits the dummy in his hand. Oh, _success. _I spin around to look at Zed, I bet he's as impressed as I was at him, but he's walking away to camouflage. I sigh, shrug, and follow him. "Camouflage?" I say to him. "That's cool, too."

The teacher here is just finishing up a lesson on how to make a paste from leaves and dirt to blend in with trees, demonstrating the final result on his own arm. When everyone goes up to try it themselves (both District Elevens, and both District Threes), including Zed, I follow him and put a bunch of stuff in the bowl—leaves, berries, dirt. The more color the better, right?

When I slather it on my arm, though, it doesn't look anything like it's supposed to. It has a bluish tint in it. But Zed's is fine. His is perfect, actually. So, I decide, I'll just let him make me my camouflage in the games.

"Victoria," he hisses, when I tell him this little plan. "Stop stalking me."

Hard-to-get? That's hot.

"Okay," I hiss back playfully.

I really can't wait for the games to begin.

* * *

**Keith's POV (District One)**

I demonstrate my amazing knife-throwing ability to the instructor, surely impressing everyone else at the station. I don't remember any of their names or their districts, but there's a small girl who's trying to flirt with some lanky guy. If this is my competition, I may as well have already won it.

At lunch I sit with the other careers, but only talk when it's to give them crappy advice I know will screw them up in the end. And I can barely get a word in—the two tributes from freaking District Four are arguing with each other every second. I tell them to shut the fuck up at one point, but they don't listen and only shut up when Alexander stands up and leaves to sit down with some of the other weaklings.

I notice that the two from District Two haven't been saying a lot, besides introducing themselves as Marina and Trafford. Marina will die soon. Trafford will be easy to backstab—literally.

"You know," Trafford speaks up in the middle of Ariel's bitching about Alexander. "How about you and Alexander just, stop talking to each other? It would be better for everyone."

Ariel is seething at the teeth at him. "How about _you_ stop talking to _everyone,_ Trafford? Why don't you go sit with some other tributes if you're just going to complain?"

"Exactly my own thoughts," Marina says, getting a giggle from the girl from Four.

She turns to Marina, but Marina gets up from the table saying, "Don't even ask," and goes to sit with Bridger, the guy from Seven, and is soon followed by Trafford and Nikole. This leaves me, the Nine chick Bambi, and Ariel.

Honestly, it doesn't really matter who I'm allied with. Ariel; Trafford; the little girl at the knife-throwing station.

I'm gonna win.

**A/N: Another chapter closer to the games! Once again, please and thank you revieeeew? I think I might even be able to get to the games before the end of Wednesday. POSSIBLY. Since I have Monday off from school. **

**Review and we'll see ;)**


	18. Words Aren't Required

**Violet's POV (District Eleven)**

When Ariel starts making fun of Trawny while we're all at the medical station, I'm really not too surprised. She's had it out for him since she knocked into him after the chariot rides, and normally it wouldn't be such a big deal, if she didn't start saying stuff about his parents.

"Did they really die," she says, "or do you just say that? Did they abandon you? Poor, Trawny."

So I say, even though the instructor is speaking, "Ariel, please shut up."

I concentrate on making a medicine out of herbs, but I can still feel her stare burning into me. I hear her saying, "Excuse me?" and a bunch of swear words, but I continue ignoring her and make my medicine. It's only when she wraps her hand around my pendant's chain and rips it off my neck do I pay her any attention.

The golden pendant is shining in her hand—the chain broken—and when she throws it to the ground Trawny gets up. But I stand up in front of him before he can say something irrational. "That," I say, "was a mistake."

Ariel smirks at me before turning around and starting towards some other station. Before she can, though, I hold her shoulder and spin her around to face me. I'm not sure what to say to her, to make her get it—to make her understand what she just did really has me mad. But then I remember that I'm in martial arts and words aren't necessary in martial arts, and so I simply punch her in the face.

* * *

**Mara's POV (District Eight)**

I'm at camouflage with the Threes, the Tens and Krow from Twelve when I hear the scream. I'm not sure what happened—all I know is that Violet is standing above Ariel, who is sprawled on the ground holding her nose. Alexander runs over to her and helps her up, and when she immediately tries to lunge for Violet he holds her back. Soon some of the mentors are running over taking Ariel, whose face is dripping with blood, away, and one is holding Violet's shoulders and talking to her so quietly nobody else can hear. She doesn't appear to be listening as she bends over and picks up a chain lying on the ground.

"What did she do?" Connor asks.

"I saw her punch Ariel in the face," Cheyenne tells us.

_Violet_ punched _Ariel_? How did _that_ happen?

"Well then," I say. "That's weird."

Victoria from Ten turns to her district partner and says, "Zed, if someone punched me in the face, would you defend _me?_"

"No," he mutters. "Because I would probably be the one punching you."

Everyone, including Victoria, laughs at that. I don't think she actually understood what he said. "You're so funny, Zed, and that's why I love you so much."

After a long awkward pause Krow says, "Well, back to camouflage."

This is one of the first times I've heard Krow talk today, but I already know I want him and Cheyenne and Connor for allies. I'm sure that we'd all be good together—against the careers—even if only one of us will get out of it alive.

I've given up on Robert, which seems the same with every other tribute besides the little girl from Twelve who continues to flirt with him and the guy, Nicholas, from Nine. I mean, he told off his own stylist. This was a mistake, because I've met his stylist and he's a nice guy and a great designer. Now I know that the effort put into Robert's interview costume will be lacking.

But, to be honest, I couldn't care less.

* * *

**Ebony's POV (District 5)**

Even though on the train I'd refused to make allies with Odyss, or anyone else for that matter, many times, Odyss sticks with me during training. We look at edible plants, medical stuff, and I demonstrate my bow and arrow ability to the girl from District One, Tiffany, and the guy from District Eight, Robert, both of which are also good with a bow an arrow. I'm better than Tiffany, but probably not better than Robert.

The instructor shows me how to hold the bow and arrow so I can aim better, and soon enough she says I'm a real natural with good reflexes. I can hit the target from far away, which will be a good advantage in the arena. I'm not even distracted from this archery when a fight breaks out on the other side of the training area.

I go through the rest of the training without speaking much to Odyss—aside from the occasional remark or question on what the instructor is talking about—and practicing bow and arrow and camouflage and edible plants. Unlike archery, I can't get the hang of the other two instantly.

When it's my turn to show the Gamemakers my skill, I choose archery. They seem semi-impressed; they've seen it all before I bet, and so in the arena, if I get the chance and manage to find the Cornucopia, my first choice weapon will be a bow and arrow. It'll keep me alive.

I wait to see my score. I'm hoping it'll be high—create some confusion for the Capitol; such a small girl getting a higher score—and that way my twin brother, Emmett, back at home won't lose all hope in me. When I think about it, if I can rough it out and hide away from the careers long enough, maybe I stand a bit of a chance.

My head flashes up on the television. I hold my breath.

Nine.

Oh—well that's not bad. Not bad at all, actually, considering most of the careers received elevens and tens. I'm just one point below their standards and, for a thirteen-year-old, I can't think that's horrible at all.

* * *

**Trafford's POV**

The whole thing with Violet from Eleven punching Ariel dies down fast. The Gamemakers and mentors don't do much about it, because what _can_ they do? Ariel, on the other hand, starts vowing to kill Violet the first chance she gets during the games, which is annoying, yeah, but at least we're not talking about Alexander anymore.

I go fourth out of everyone to show the Gamemakers what I can do. I throw some spears at dummies, first starting close up and then slowly moving back, further and further away until I'm across the area from the dummy. I can tell I have them captivated—no way could anyone else make this shot—and so I take three running steps before propelling the weapon through the air.

It pierces through the dummy's chest, and I smile, turning to the Gamemakers, who are actually looking impressed at it. I'm not surprised. Throwing a spear from that far away and hitting the target alone—well—that should give me a very high score.

Which it does. In the end, I receive a ten. Marina receives an eight for throwing knives, which I can tell she's proud of. The other districts aren't very surprising—people like Victoria from Ten get a score of three. I'm not sure what she showed to get such a low score. Maybe nothing.

Ariel and Alexander got matching marks—more complaining would be heard—elevens, and same with the girl from Three Alexander always hit on.

But the two scores that surprised me the most were the tiny girl from Five's score, and the guy Marina insisted we sit with at lunch. The tiny girl got a nine. _A nine. _That's higher than my own district partner's. What could _she _have done to impress the Gamemakers so much? And the guy from Seven, Bridger, getting a ten. What was _that? I _got a ten. From what he's told us—not much, I guess, but nonetheless—he's not a career. He cuts up wood.

Guess I've got more competition than I thought.

**A/N: Review? (:**

**Games here we come!**

**Oh & to answer a question: No, not every character's interview will be shown. It will be kind of like the chariot rides, but in more detail. **


	19. Good Job

**Caitlin's POV (Twelve)**

By the time it's time to show the Gamemakers our abilities I've made an alliance with Nicholas from District Nine, Tiffany from District One and Robert from District Eight. Nick's a little too old for me, but Robert's only two years ahead and kind of cute. Plus, I've seen him with a bow and arrow and he's amazing.

Tiffany joined our foursome when we were all at knife-throwing one time, and she was like, "Hey, I want to be an alliance with you," and before I could say no Robert was like, "Why not? C'mon in! The more the merrier!"

Well, not in those words, exactly, but generally that's what happened.

I'm not sure what to do for the Gamemakers, but my mentor has mentioned more than once that I'm fast. So I race around the area and jump and duck and show them my reflexes, which in the end only gives me a four. But at least now I won't be a major target for the careers.

Nick gets a seven. Robert gets a seven. Tiffany gets a five. Honestly, I don't know why we allowed her as an ally. If she slows us all down, there's not much we can do but break off the alliance and leave her behind.

Krow has made just as much progress as I have. He's made allies with the District Threes and Robert's district partner. We've decided they'll be our first target—Robert will be able to get em all with his arrows. Easy. Then we'll go for the careers. One by one. And then we'll have to get rid of Tiffany, of course, and Nick, and then before he knows what's going on Rob will be dead.

Even if he is cute.

* * *

**Nikole's POV (District Six)**

When I hang out with the careers, they don't talk to me. I find this strange because, back home, people were _always _talking to me. Why should it be any different here?

My district partner isn't much help, either. He's allied with Odyss something-or-other—the one with the weird greenish yellowish eyes. I'm not sure when _that_ happened, but I'm certain that I'll be able to kill them both, so I don't think about Liam too much anymore. I need my rest for the games.

Besides, it's not like Liam and Odyss will last long.

Come on—it's the careers and me against them.

Who will be the winners here, do you think?

For the Gamemakers, I stab a few dummies. This will give me a solid seven, at the very least, I think as I walk out. Not bad—enough for real the careers to keep me around long enough. By the time the careers and I have gotten everyone else killed, either Alexander or Ariel will be dead, and that will bring down my competition. I can hide out while the rest of them kill each other. And then comes my victory.

As I retreat to the sixth floor Jasper and Heidi, our mentors, Pennifer our escort, and Liam are all waiting for me. Liam looks confident and cocky—whatever he had done to the Gamemakers he must have thought it was impressive. But I've seen Liam at training, faintly. He can't pick up a weapon to save his life.

"How did it go?" Heidi asks.

"Wonderfully," I tell her and flop down at the table. Pennifer—who's asked us to call him Penny and is always decked out in the color purple—looks at me, but doesn't say anything. He has this morbid expression on his face like he knows something I don't, which annoys me. I'm the one in power here. "Yes?"

He takes a quick glance over at Liam, but then turns back to me. "Nothing."

I roll my eyes and order the Avox to bring me some fruit before they show the scores. I've taken to a healthier life style, eating food that won't only keep my energy up but my skin also clear for all of the Capitol to see. My stylist has informed me more than once of how the color of my hair is very beautiful and workable.

I'm biting into an apple when they show District Six. Liam's face comes up, his red hair and freckles making him look paler than he really is.

Eight.

What the hell.

Liam. Liam Holloway. He got an eight. A freaking eight. What did he do that could've gotten him such a high score? He's the weakest person I've ever met—his arms so limp they could pass as twigs. If they were painted the color of a tree or something, though, because—like I said—he's really pale.

I can see Jasper smiling slightly when this big number eight comes on the television. What did _he_ teach him that could've gotten Liam Holloway such a high score? And why didn't I get Jasper as a mentor? Why did I get Heidi, who basically just told me to use my looks and strength against the others?

Like, what kind of advice is _that?_

Liam's obnoxious head disappears and mine fades in. I look good in that picture. My hair is shiny and my eyes are bright—

Five.

The apple is frozen in my mouth. Nobody else in the room is breathing, I don't think, but they're all looking in my direction sympathetically. Especially Heidi. Well, she should. If I die, now, it's her freaking fault.

"Five?" I question, and the apple falls out of my mouth and onto the floor. It rolls underneath the table. "Do you all see that? Or is it just me?"

"I see it. Don't worry about it, honey—" Pennifer clears his throat and stops himself, like he just made a horrible mistake. "Pardon me, I meant sweetheart."

I can just barely hear a giggle from Heidi when he says that. But I ignore the sick feeling in my stomach and concentrate on the newly-found problem.

Liam got a higher score than me. What are the people back in District Six thinking right now? Are they surprised as I am?

When I disappear and the quiet Ryli Smith from Seven comes onto screen, Liam turns to look over his shoulder at me. I'm about to give him the most menacing, most truly terrifying glare I've ever given anybody in my entire life, but before I can the corners of his mouth turn skywards into a sort of smile.

A smile.

Oh. Oh no. That was the biggest mistake he could've made.

Now this is war.

* * *

**Nicholas's POV (Nine)**

Bambi trains with the careers. She sits with them at lunch while I'm stuck with a few people that will never keep me alive. Robert is overconfident. Caitlin is spoiled and stuck-up and will never survive in any arena if someone else doesn't supply food and water for her. Tiffany is quiet and doesn't do very well in training—but I'm not sure if this is because she's actually not good at anything or wants everyone to underestimate her.

I'm all right with a knife. The Gamemakers seem to think so, too, because I receive a seven. Bambi gets a ten. Not surprising. She's good at basically everything—her weaknesses are unknown to me, and the rest of the tributes. If anything, I'm still hanging onto the hope she'll get out of the arena alive, because I clearly stand no chance. Plus, her winning would make benefits for my family, too, and so I grasp onto this thought as District Nine disappears and District Ten comes on. My mentor William gives me an encouraging slap on the shoulder. I don't try to smile back. A seven in this group of tributes means absolutely nothing, aside from death.

"Good job," Bambi tells me, and then retreats to her room. It's the kind of _Good job _that your mother says to you after you've cleaned the dishes, or something. I try not to let my disappointment show as I tell her good job back and then lean back in the couch with my eyes closed.

I hear a door slam, and then a few seconds later William says, "So, how long have you liked her?"

I open one eye. William is the only one left in the room—I'm not sure where Bambi's mentor went, or where the stylists disappeared to, but they're gone.

"What do you mean?"

"I said how long have you liked Bambi for? I don't find it that hard of a question."

"I don't."

"Nicholas." He sighs. "Please. It's obvious to me. I know what love looks like."

I close my open eye. "I don't, Will. Now, leave me alone. I'd like sleep."

"This is a public area. Go to your room if you don't want to be harassed, because here I have my rights."

So I stand up to go to my room, but as the door is shutting Will manages to get a few more words in. "If you don't tell her before the arena she'll never know."

**A/N: Almost 100 reviews? Jeesh, you guys are really REALLY awesome, since we haven't even reached the real action yet!!**

**I'm trying so hard to get these interviews done before Wednesday. I have so many things planned. Woo!**

**Let's try to reach 100 reviews before the gong sounds? (:**


	20. Moron

**Connor's POV (Three)**

Allying with Mara and Krow was probably the best idea that Cheyenne had. I mean, we probably didn't need them, Cheyenne and I, but it was a good idea nonetheless.

Our scores for training vary. I get a five. Not bad for a guy who isn't good with weapons. Cheyenne gets an eleven, which everyone congratulates her on while we're all watching the scores on the TV on the third floor. Mara gets a seven—she told us she was going to 'cook something up' for the Gamemakers. Krow gets a seven, too, which is bull because I think I'm better than him at just about everything. Well, except knives. But that's the only exception.

"You guys did awesome," one of our mentors, Lacy, tells us. She has really tight blonde curls that go down to her shoulders and dark brown eyes with no pupils—it's really creepy, actually.

"We did, didn't we?" Cheyenne says, looking at the screen, still. District Four has now come up. Both Ariel and Alexander receive elevens.

"District Three has a good chance this year, I think," October, another mentor, says, and I'm about to say a quick thank-you when I realize he's looking directly at Cheyenne.

They all think Cheyenne has a better chance winning these games than I do.

Yeah. We'll see.

***

As I wait for the Ones and Twos to finish up their interview, my stylist, Norbert, coaches me. "Remember what you told me. Remember what your approach to this is. A confident, love struck teenager that just wants to get home to his girlfriend." He's adjusting the spikes in my hair when he says it.

The interviewer Marlin Weddock—a man who makes his entire body the colors of a rainbow; his hair is red; his skin is orange; he's wearing yellow makeup; his shirt is green and one leg of his pants blue, the other indigo, almost matching his violet shoes—says a few words before I get pushed out onto the stage. There are Capitol people of all shapes, sizes and colors clapping and cheering for me, and this gives me even more confidence than I already had as I sit down in the chair next to Marlin's.

"Connor Foxx," he says with a shake of his head.

"Marlin Weddock." I shake my head in the same way and get a few laughs from the Capitol crowd.

He asks me a few questions he asked all the other tributes—who are you fighting for?—what's your strategies?—who really _are_ you?—and I respond with the half-hearted answers I'd worked up while watching the other two districts go, stuff about how I'm not ready at all to leave my girlfriend, back in District Three. Then he comes to, "What do you think of all the other tributes?"

He's gotten me so comfortable sitting here that it's like I'm talking to a friend, and I don't think before I respond, "They're all right, I guess. The District Fours try to be scary but are morons, and same with Keith. Victoria and Nikole are both the most annoying in this competition—but that's a close tie with Caitlin. I think—"

I catch Norbert's eye, then. He's sitting in the crowd and shaking his head quickly, making a slicing motion across his throat, like he wants me to shut up.

Why—

Oh.

Oh god.

What've I done?

* * *

**Alexander's POV (Four)**

The tributes from District One go first, obviously, Keith portraying a tough fifteen-year-old that knows he can win it—even if he can't—and that Tiffany chick going on about how she doesn't think people really know what she can do, blah blah blah. Marina and Trafford both say District Two stands a chance.

But then there's District Three.

The guy, Connor, goes first. Everything's going just peachily—no, I don't care if that's not an actual word—when he begins to insult all the other tributes. Normally, this wouldn't be that big of a deal. If I wasn't one of those insulted tributes.

According to this guy, I try to be scary when I'm really a moron. Stupidest thing I've ever heard coming from the stupidest person I've ever met. Saying that in front of the Capitol? Bye-bye, sponsors. Bye-bye, allies. Bye-bye _life. _

Cheyenne goes up next, the hot one. She comes across as the quiet confidence, something I've never seen a good-looking career trying to pull off. She walks off to the cheers of the Capitol crowd—I wonder if she was extra-good just because of her district partner's major mistake, because with that performance I know she'll get enough sponsors to survive for days.

I'm up next, so I unbutton one more button of my blue shirt, my stylist makes sure my hair's in the right place, and then I go on to sit next to the Rainbow Freak.

"Alexander Willis!" he exclaims. "A descendant of Finnick."

I sit back comfortably in the blue chair, my hands over my head and one leg over the other. "That's me," I say, flashing a smile. "But the whole Finnick thing is overplayed, overrated... take your pick. Isn't it?"

Rainbow Freak looks uncertain. "Well, he's one of the most famous—"

I wave a hand dismissively in the air. "Old news."

He blinks once before saying, "All righty," and moving on to the questions. "So, Alexander, I've been told there's a lot of competition between you and your district partner, Ariel. You're both careers. You both received matching scores, elevens at that, from the Gamemakers..." The sentence hangs in the air. Out of all the people to talk about during _my_ interview, we're talking about Finnick and Ariel.

"Well," I say. "It isn't like we're completely unethical. It's friendly competition."

"You held her hand on the chariot rides," he reminds me, like he's some detective or something. "What does _that_ mean?"

I can tell the Capitol is on the edge of their seats, waiting for my response. What am I supposed to say, to get more sponsors? Will they love how we're against each other, at each others' throats? Or would they prefer the whole—

I can't believe I'm about to do this.

"You see, Marlin." I lean in, like I'm telling him a secret. Like I'm not aware every person of Panem, every freak in the Capitol, is captivated by me. "I kind of really like Ariel."

* * *

**Bridger's POV**

I'm not really sure what goes on during all the interviews. I didn't get much sleep last night and, although I just had a sandwich, I'm hungry again. All I can gather is that District Three insulted some people, the guy from Four admitted to loving the girl—yeah, bull, but who really gives a crap—both Fives were all brotherly-sisterly, and the chick from Six threw up. Marina is the one to tell me all of this before she has to go back to floor Two.

To be honest, Marina's the only tribute I would consider making allies with.

But that doesn't mean I will.

I don't even hear anyone call my name when someone with a headset and an earpiece and a clipboard motions me to go out onto the stage. So I walk out, my eyes set on the chair and nothing else—it looks comfy enough for a nap. The people are cheering annoyingly, because I have a bit of a headache and it would be helpful if they all just shut up and stopped clapping. They do, though, eventually, when Marlin goes, "Have a seat," to me.

I yawn as he's saying, "Bridger... a ten in training... and you're not a career, are you?" I shake my head. He continues. "How do you do it?"

Not having enough energy to really think up a great answer, I say, "That's for me to know, and for you all to find out."

I mean it seriously. Not as a joke. But the interviewer guy laughs anyways. "Is that so? Bridger, you're a strong, handsome young tribute from District Seven, who got a score of ten. I'm sure all of the Capitol thinks you stand a chance. Do you think so, too?"

"Well, I'm not planning on dying any time soon."

He laughs again. I still wasn't joking. "You think it'll be easy, against this bunch of tributes?"

"I dunno, really. If I'm being honest, these games are a joke. The Capitol made 'em to show us they have more power—and maybe they do—but it doesn't earn them respect by killing off innocent kids, does it? Like I said, they're stupid. A waste of time. Nobody cares unless somebody they know is killed."

Rainbow Boy doesn't say anything. He seems to be expecting me to go on.

"The Gamemakers are people as much as we are," I say. "They have the same kinda brains we have. Outsmarting them is simple, if you get into their train of thought. I'd like to say it's the same for the Capitol, but it's not as easy."

The interviewer looks around, uneasy. "That's... quite the opinion, Bridger."

I shrug.

It looks like he doesn't know what to say, because he's looking out at the crowd with a weird expression. Why am I sitting here, not talking to this guy, doing absolutely nothing, when I could be sleeping in preparation for the games? Just wasting yet more of my time.

"All right." He's still not looking at me. "Everyone, Bridger Henderson!" The Capitol claps, which doesn't help with my headache because they're clapping really loud. So I stand up and walk away as fast as I can, passing Ryli on my way up to the Seventh floor to take a nap and get some medicine for my head.

**A/N: I can't even express how awesome I think you guys are xD. Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing. Again. (: Pleeease keep reviewing?**

**I hope by the end of the interviews you guys have a better feel of the characters, because by now I do. **


	21. A Dead Man

**Zed's POV (10****)**

I go first out of me and Victoria for the interview. For the past few days she's been following me around, telling me how much she'll miss me and congratulating me on my score of six. A six isn't something to be congratulated about when there are elevens scored, but Victoria got a three, so I guess in her perspective a six _is _something to be celebrated.

My mentor told me to go for the charming, quiet boy approach. I'm not sure how to be quiet and charming all in one, but it's been done before, and so I should be able to do it too.

As I walk out on stage, I wave to some of the Capitol crowd; my potential sponsors, and as I lower myself into the chair beside Marlin Weddock, my heart starts to beat a little. Charming and quiet? How am I going to be able to accomplish _that? _

"Zed—is Zed short for anything?" he asks, right off the bat.

"Nope," I say with a bit of a smile. "Just Zed."

"Right, right. So, Zed. How is everything with your district partner?" He winks at me. "I've heard the rumors about your little romance. In fact—"

Little romance? What little romance? Maybe Victoria's little _fantasy, _but there is no romance in any way whatsoever between us—I've been trying to make that clear over the years, and she still doesn't get the hint. I'm about to say something about it to Marlin when he says, "We've decided it would be best if you two did the interview _together_. It's not a first, but the response from the Capitol about it has been huge."

What. The. Eff.

You have to be kidding me. This is a joke. A joke. I never agreed to do the interview together, did I? I don't believe so. They can't push this on me; I've already had my free will taken away when they forced me onto that train, and now they go as far as _this?_

Victoria prances onto the stage, blowing kisses and waving at the crowd. She's wearing a short white dress with sequins, and her weird half-brown half-blonde hair is up in a high ponytail. She sinks down beside me on the couch, smiling at me, and I just stare back.

"Look at them!" Marlin coos.

Before he starts with the questions, I take a look over at my mentor. He's winking at me and giving me two thumbs up. If I get the chance I'm going to kill that man.

"So," Marlin says. "How did you two meet?"

Victoria answers all the questions, and I sit there, still shocked. What does this mean, now? Am I going to have to put up with her the whole games? Are we going to be forced into being allies? I don't want that. She got a three. A_ three. _If she dies and we're allies, I'm most likely going with her.

"And how are _you_ holding up, Zed?" Marlin asks suddenly.

"Um." I take a moment of hesitation to think. Denying Victoria... would I lose sponsors because of it? Do I need sponsors to win? But I don't let myself hesitate any longer. "I'm holding up fantastic."

Victoria, along with everyone else, freezes. Marlin says, "Fantastic, are you?"

I'm going to die soon. Sponsors or not. So is Victoria, and I can't go around letting people think we were a couple—I can't let _Victoria_ think that, especially. And so I say, "Look. Marlin. People of Panem. Victoria. Victoria and I were never really a couple, all right? I think she liked me for a while, and I'm not sure how the rumours started up about the two of us, but we're _not_ together, nor will we ever be. I'm sorry, Victoria, and I hope you understand where I'm coming from, but we're gonna die soon anyways and I don't want to lead you on in this interview." I stand up, trying not to look at Victoria. "Sorry, everyone. Have a nice evening."

I walk away, knowing what I just did wasn't nasty at all, I mean, I had said she _liked_ me, when she had told me many times she was in _love_ with me. I said I didn't know how those rumours started up when I had a strong instinct it was done by Victoria and the mentors as a publicity stunt for sponsors.

Well, they wanted a publicity stunt, that was what they got.

I just can't decide if it'll turn out horribly great or just... horribly.

* * *

**Violet's POV (11)**

The first thing that Marlin Weddock brings up is the Incident.

You know, the one where I punched Ariel in the face.

He leans in and says, "We've all heard about the conflict between you and Ariel, Violet. Care to elaborate?"

"Well," I say slowly. "What do you want to know?"

"To start off, I think we all want to know what encouraged you to punch her."

There are a few cheers from the crowd around me, and I pull my yellow, ray of sunshine dress—as described by my stylist, not me—down to my knees. When he had asked Ariel these questions she ignored him and started talking about how sure she was of winning and how District Four was going too soft in the games lately, but this year all of that would change.

"Ariel's just..." I search for the right word. Something that won't offend her _too_ much. "She says everything she's thinking. No matter how bad it is, and she doesn't realize what kind of effect it has on people."

"And she said something to you?" he inquires.

I hesitate. "Not _me_, specifically—"

"Who, then?"

He's really nosy, isn't he?

"Trawny, but that's old news, it doesn't really matter anymore—"

"But, Violet." Marlin gestures to the crowd. "The Capitol wants to know."

The crowd is cheering louder, now, and I chew on my lip. I want to talk about me and Trawny and District Eleven and get sponsors in this interview—not lose them by gossiping about Ariel.

"She just made a remark about Trawny's parents," I say, hoping it'll satisfy the Capitol crowd. "I didn't find it very nice."

"And do you think the conflict will carry on into the arena?"

I smile on the outside, but inside my heart is ramming against my ribcage. Making a mistake in the interview, especially a mistake concerning one of the most powerful people in this competition, would mean death. "I think it most definitely will."

* * *

**Bambi's POV (9)**

My mentor and I've decided I'm going for the sexy, flirtatious approach. And as I walk out in my butterfly-inspired interview outfit, nearly the same as my chariot costume except now I'm sporting a large pair of wings, I gather enough strength to beam at the crowd and blow a few kisses.

"Bambi," the interviewer, a guy dressed as a rainbow named Marlin, says as I take a seat. "Nice wings there, hun."

I laugh and move my shoulders up and down. The wings move with them. "Thanks, Marlin."

Through the interview I go from playing with my hair to giggling to randomly touching the material of my butterfly wings. I think I'm having a good effect, too, because my stylist and mentors are giving me thumbs up from the crowd through the whole thing. I want to show that District One mentor—Ledger, whatever his name is—that killed my sister just exactly how great I can do in these games.

"It's been nice talking to you, Bambi," Marlin says as we're finishing up the last of the questions. "But I'm afraid we're out of time."

I walk confidently off the stage to a cheering crowd, knowing I did pretty well at the very least, waving occasionally and smiling. I feel invulnerable. I feel like I can win it; like I have more of a chance than all of these other tributes.

The people from District Ten take the attention off my success, though, when Victoria joins Zed on the stage, portraying star-crossed lovers, and when Zed stalks into the elevator and up to his floor because he doesn't feel the same way Victoria does. The Elevens are cute. Trawny and Violet. But if Violet hadn't punched Ariel earlier in the competition I'm not sure if she'd have as many fans. Twelve is all right, I guess—Caitlin seems stuck-up and annoying while Krow wears no shoes and rolled up sleeves, acting innocent and strong. The rolled up sleeves must have been intentional, because they show off the long scar on his forearm.

Nicholas congratulates me on my interview, and I thank him and congratulate him back. He did okay with his shy boy approach. But the only sponsors he'll receive will be the ones who take pity.

"Look," he says, and stops me before I walk to my room. "Bambi. I just think I need to tell you something before tomorrow."

Since I have no idea what it could be about—Nicholas and I haven't really been close in school or anything—I nod for him to go on. "Yeah?"

He draws a breath. "I—"

But before he's able to finish whatever he was going to tell me, my mentor rushes in and says she needs to discuss a bunch of stuff with me for the games tomorrow. As I look over apologetically at Nicholas, I see he's already retreating back into his room. Oh, well. Maybe we'll get a chance to talk before the games actually start—doubtful, but a nice thought.

Either way, at least one of us will be dying soon.

* * *

**Ariel's POV (4)**

I'm going to rip his head off his body and stomp on it. And then break all his bones in his body. No, actually, I'm going to break all the bones in his body, first, so he feels it, and _then_ rip off his head and stomp on it.

I can't believe he did that. Say that he liked me. What was I supposed to say? Risk losing sponsors? No. So I just avoided the questions Marlin asked me about Alexander completely and brought the conversation back to me and how I was going to win.

I confront Alexander about it after the interviews, but he just says, "You can't kill me until the end. I'm in your alliance. You break it, your sponsors are gone, and with the Cornucopia hidden..." He shrugs. "You have no chance without sponsors, and you know it, Ariel."

Yeah. I do know it, actually. And so I hate him even more for that, now, and I can't wait until his time comes and I get to feel his bones crushing underneath my hands.

**A/N: I could write another chapter on the interviews, if you guys really want me to, or I can just go straight to the games. Your guys' choice, so review and let me know. (: **

**OH and thank you guys SO MUCH! 100+ reviews! (101, but that one still counts as a + ;) )**

**Once again, I must say, all of you are pretty damn awesome (:**


	22. The Ginger

**A/N: Soo, I got a couple reviews saying to write more interviews. This chapter is just a series of short POVs of the interviews, to get as many tributes into it as possible. **

**And then, are you guys excited about this as I am?, we're onto the gameeeees!**

**So PLEEEEASE review? (:**

**Tiffany's POV (1)**

I'm allied with Nicholas and Robert and Caitlin. This isn't that great of a group, none of them are that good at anything, but I think I've done my job in convincing them I, in general, suck. When they least expect it, when they think _they're_ the ones that have _me_—that's when I'll strike. And I'll strike hard. Like a snake in the grass, waiting for the right time to attack.

The Capitol won't see it coming. Nobody will. During my interview, I give a few hints about it. Like, "Oh, I think you'll all be surprised by the outcomes of the gbames," and, "You'll just have to wait and see. But it'll be worth it this year."

Marlin gobbled it up, too; relished in the fact I was so mysterious about my strategies. Will that get me sponsors? Yeah, I think so.

My mentor seems to think so, too, because she gives me a high-five as I come off the stage and Trafford from District Two goes on. She tells me I did an amazing job and gives me a little bit of a wink—she knows my plans as well as I do; in fact, she's the one who helped me devise it and everything. Without her, I'd be completely lost in the shuffle of these strong and confident careers.

But I can do it.

I know I can.

* * *

**Odyss's POV (5)**

Ebony scoring a nine surprised me to the third degree. A nine is higher than I scored—by two points. And I'm older, taller, and stronger than she is. But she's made it clear she doesn't want allies, so I don't talk to her about this accomplishment before both of us go up for the interviews.

I'm reserved in it, but, as my mentor told me to appear, I make it seem like I have a fire burning inside that's just waiting to come out. I wasn't sure how exactly to make it look like I have a fire burning inside until he asked me the question, "You think you'll be able to win?" and I answered with a serious look on my face that I was going to try, try and try. Ebony, on the other hand, went for a small and bubbly innocent girl who happened to get a nine.

If I didn't watch Ariel and Alexander's interviews right after that I might say she had a chance.

* * *

**Krow's POV (12)**

My feet are bare because my stylist is going for the natural, underdog District Twelve tribute. During the interview, I want to bring up how I have to hunt to keep my family fed but that could get everyone who knows me in trouble, so I keep that part under wraps and say that I got my scar from a fight I got into once. I don't say what fight it is, so even though it's actually from a wild dog—who is now completely tame—they don't know that.

Cailtin goes last out of everyone. She talks about how, back home, she had a good life and a loving family and leaving that breaks her heart. I guess she's looking to find pity sponsors, but the way she put it all didn't make it sound that great of a life story.

She must have forgotten about the first day in the Justice Building, when we made allies with each other, because she's been with Robert from Eight and Tiffany from One and Nicholas from Nine since that first day of training.

And thank god for that.

* * *

**Keith's POV (1)**

I think I do good in my interview. I'm like all the other District One careers that have gone off and won the games, slicing the other helpless ones with spears and knives like there's no tomorrow. And I guess for those I will kill, there isn't.

I know my grandpa's watching the interview, so I give half of a wink at the camera as I'm coming off the stage for him. He knows it's for him. I don't even have to say anything about it.

When I win the games, it'll be for him, too. As each tribute dies off, I'll know that he'll be watching me, proud.

Tiffany has no chance. Let's just leave it at that. Dragging on her for too long would be useless, because I won't even have to kill her—either someone else will or she'll die off by herself. Starve. Accidentally shoot herself with poison darts.

As I go to sleep the night after my interview, my heart pounds like someone beating on a drum. This is from the purse excitement that tomorrow I'll be in the arena, fighting and proving to my grandfather I can follow in his footsteps to win the Hunger Games, and is not related whatsoever to fear or anxiousness, and whatever other pathetic emotions the other tributes are feeling right about now.

* * *

**Ryli's POV (7)**

My interview goes all right. I think I get my position across. I have two younger sisters back home and a mother that need supporting, and being here is not only killing me (quite literally), but them, as well. At one point Marlin looks so touched by my speech that I swear I see his eyes tearing up, but the next second it's gone.

My district partner is an idiot in his interview. Dissing the Gamemakers. The ones that are holding his life in their hands; are prepared to step on it like something that's as delicate as a glass vase and smash it to pieces in seconds.

Like I said. Idiot.

I can't feel any sympathy—or empathy, for that matter—though, because of that day in the Justice Building when he said he 'didn't really' want to ally with me. His own district partner. But I didn't see him ally with anyone else during training, so maybe he's just a free-for-all kind of guy.

Well. That was that. Tomorrow, I'll be entering the arena.

And I'll be showing each and every one of them just how much I want—need—to survive.

* * *

**Liam's POV (6)**

Nikole throws up during the interview because Marlin asks her what her favorite food is in her stay at the Capitol. Such an innocent question turning into a place of chaos, where Marlin needs to get up and leave and change into another pair of different colored pants with a repulsed look painted across his features.

Since we got our training scores back—mine being higher than hers—Nikole hasn't even tried to hide her disgust for me. I go on acting oblivious, like I don't really understand. Smiling at her when I pass her on the sixth floor and telling her she did a wonderful job during her interview. She'll sure get sponsors for that.

Yeah. Right.

See, that's Nikole's weakness. Honey and obsession with herself. Odyss's is his sisters back at home—he's been telling me more how Ebony reminds him of each of them. Ebony is the key in his weakness, I think, and there's no way I'm letting that valuable piece of information slide. The District Fours' weakness? Each other. Simple and easy. Keith from One? He's good with a weapon. Doesn't look too bright. Probably won't last long without unlimited food and water. Bridger from Seven? He insulted the Gamemakers. No work needed. Cheyenne from Three? It's not like I haven't seen Alexander flirting it up with that girl. And all the others? Doesn't matter. They'll kill each other off before they get to me.

All of the other tributes—every last one of them—they think I don't stand a chance. That wimpy kid with the red hair, oh, look at him! I wonder what his family must be thinking while he stands next to all these careers three times his size. I wonder what _he's_ thinking while all the other careers are chucking javelins and he's learning how to tie a knot.

Well, all of those people? They're going to die. They'll never know what hit them. The ginger that didn't stand a chance. Rising to the top of the action. Winning the Hunger Games and glory and fame for District Six.

That will make good headlines, won't it?


	23. Let the Games Begin!

**A/N: Killing off tributes is not fun. Let's just leave it at that.**

**Review? I would put a little smiley face here but deciding what tributes had to be offed wasn't great, and**** writing it all was even worse. But please enjoy, nonetheless! **

**Oh, and sorry if there's any grammar mistakes/typos in this chapter. ****It's kind of late here, but I wanted this chapter to be out there before I hit the hay, and I only read over it once. **

**Trafford' POV (2)**

I didn't think my heart would beat as fast as it is right now, stepping onto the platform that will take me up into the arena. I stare straight ahead, not sure of what to expect. A frozen wasteland? A forest? A deserted island?

My outfit doesn't give me much to guess about; it's a long-sleeved, white shirt matched with long, tighter, green pants that go down to my ankles. Nothing fancy installed like the year they installed flotation devices, or extra layers that unrolled from the fabric with the push of a button.

The glass tube I'm standing in begins to rise, and for a second I can't believe this is real. After all my years of training I'm standing here, ready to enter the Hunger Games. I'm ready to win.

I emerge into the arena and take my first look at where I'll be fighting.

* * *

**Marina's POV (2)**

The arena's—well—complicated. As I rise out into the hot, desert sun, I can already feel my skin starting to crisp. There are cactuses and mounts of sand, and the nearest tributes to me are Robert and Ariel, but they're so far off and sand is blowing around so much I can just barely tell who they actually are.

When I turn to look behind me, I see the Gamemakers have outdone themselves. There's a jungle there. At least, that's what it looks like—it's so far off I can't see much besides the bits of green rising into the air. How the Gamemakers managed to combine a desert and a jungle is beyond me.

But then some of the sand clears out of my eyes, and I see that this 'desert' we're in is surrounded by the jungle. Every direction I look I can see those bits of green—it looks like the desert landscape is shaped as a circle, and so whatever way each tribute heads we'll all be out of the desert at some point. Unless roasting in the heat is your preference.

Just as I'm wondering where exactly to run to, I mean, the Cornucopia could be anywhere in this mesh of land, the gong sounds and the games begin.

* * *

**Mara's POV (8)**

When the gong goes off I look over to see which way Krow has decided to run. Thankfully, the two of us have been placed next to each other on the platforms, because without him I'm sure I would be lost. So I follow Krow as he runs towards a large mount of sand, and then over it and towards the jungle or forest or whatever is in the distance.

I'm using all fours to run up the sand—but I'm slipping and falling down two feet for every foot I actually climb. My eyes are burning from the grains of sand which are pelting my flesh and face and hair, too, and so I pull my white shirt over my head. I can't see as well but my eyes are more protected, now.

I get to the top of the sand mount, but something hits me from behind, hard. My body screams in protest as I tumble back down the sand mount and my shirt falls back into place, the weight of another person on top of me. When we reach the bottom and I catch a glimpse of blond hair I realize Keith is the one about to kill me, and as much as I try to push him off I can't.

His fist collides with my nose, and blood is trickling into my mouth, and I can't help but think of my family, watching this at home. My sister, who hates me, but is surely crying for me right now—

Keith is thrown off of me, so suddenly and so abruptly I'm not sure what to do at first. So I lie in the sand and look to my side, over at Keith, who is growling between his teeth and digging his fists into the sand and getting to his feet. Cheyenne's standing above me, and she grasps my wrist and drags me up and over the sand mount in record time. Keith had been trailing us at the bottom, I think, but as the two of us awkwardly stumble down the steep decent and run for the jungle, I don't hear or see anyone behind us.

But that doesn't mean there no one is there.

"Where's Connor and Krow?" I say while we run. She's feet ahead of me, and I'm trying hard to keep up.

"Last time I saw them they were heading in the same direction as we are right now," she replies. "I said we'd meet them as soon as possible. Krow told me he thought you were behind him, but—" She pauses, looks back to make sure I'm still there. "—you weren't. So I had to run back for you."

All of this happened in the time I'd been scaling the sand mount and getting beat up by Keith?

"Well," I say, coughing. Sand is everywhere. "That was fast."

***

It takes us another two and a half hours of running to get to the jungle. At first, I'm sure it's a forest. But then I hear the sounds that would only be in a jungle—I think I can even hear some monkeys and elephants. As we step from the sand onto the soil, another cannon goes off. That makes three so far.

The transition between desert and jungle is anything but smooth. The sand changes quickly to dirt and some of the trees are half on the sand. They look like they could fall over at any time. As we enter the jungle where it's not as hot; the tree tops shade some parts of the ground, Cheyenne looks around us, her eyes darting back and forth and on the balls of her feet, for other tributes.

"Mara," she says. "You aren't able to fight, are you?"

I'm about to ask her when she figured _that_ out—when I tied knots all of training or when I almost got beaten to death by Keith—when someone hops out of the tree and lands in front of us. Before we're even able to identify the person Cheyenne kicks their legs, making them fall onto the ground and groan in pain when they land on a large tree root, and punches them under the jaw.

"It's me," a strained voice says. Connor. "It's your district partner, Cheyenne. Was that really necessary?"

"Sorry. Thought you might've been a career."

Connor stands up, brushes some dirt off his pants, and says, "No. I'm not."

Krow comes out of the trees, then, his eyes wide and his breath short. "I heard them. They're coming this way. We have to get out of here." He takes off running again, and the three of us follow him.

There's really no point in asking who he meant when he said _they. _The fear in his eyes says it all.

* * *

**Victoria's POV (10****)**

I'm confused. On the platform to my left is Alexander, and the one to my right is Odyss. As soon as I hear the gong I can see Alexander is running in my direction, and I'm about to meet him and ask what he's doing when he tackles me to the ground.

So that's what he's doing.

But I'm not about to let him kill me. Not now. I have so much time left. With Zed. With the Games. But pain is coursing through my body with every punch Alexander gets to me and with every tiny piece of sand that is piercing my skin. My vision goes black. I try to yell for help, but who's going to help me? After the whole incident during the interviews, I haven't spoken to Zed. And I haven't made any allies.

My breath is taken out of me when he cracks something near my stomach. I think those are my ribs.

Finally, Alexander stops. But I can't move. I'm gasping for breath, but it's no use, because none is coming. Even if I do survive after this I won't make it to the jungle before I die from thirst or starvation.

I can hear distant voices. One of them sounds like Alexander. The other sounds like Ariel. They sound like their arguing again, even after the stunt that Alexander pulled during the interviews.

"Leave her," Ariel says. The only words I'm able to make out. "She'll die soon."

I don't know how long I lie there, trying to hang on to my last bit of breath. But it's a while, because the sand is gathering on my body, which I try to brush off but my hand gets soaked in what I think is blood.

That's when I hear him.

"Victoria?"

I want to speak, but instead of words a series of sharp rasps escapes my mouth.

"Why am I doing this? Oh god, _why_ am I doing this?" I hear him say, after a long pause.

And then I feel him pick me up, which hurts a lot but I choose not to say anything about it, and we begin to walk.

* * *

**Caitlin's POV (12)**

Ariel is on one side of me. Liam is on the other. When the gong goes, I run for Liam's side, because I have a better chance winning a fight with him rather than Ariel, but I'm thrown to the ground before I can. Ariel's already on me.

The pain is horrible. I've never felt that bad in my life, and I wish that I was back at home, with the smell of food coming into the dining room from the kitchen where my mother is cooking. I can almost smell the soup—mushroom soup, or maybe beef and barley—I can almost _taste_ it. I wish that my dad was here to hold me and rock me in his arms and comfort me. I wish I could go back to that soup and my dad's familiar smell of leather, but I know right now, that's impossible. Ariel from District Four is attacking me. I have no chance.

I hear someone say my name. But I can't see who. My eyes are closed because the pain is more intense.

And then, with the taste of mushroom soup in my mouth and the scent of leather tingling on my nose, all goes silent and black.

* * *

**Nicholas's POV (9)**

I try to run towards Caitlin when she's attacked by Ariel, but I know no matter what I do will be useless. And I'm right. Alexander blindsides me and I'm on the ground in a matter of milliseconds.

Robert was behind me when I was running here. I wonder briefly what happened to him, but my thoughts are interrupted as Alexander begins to fight me to the death.

I think of Bambi. What Will said. How I should tell her before going into the arena, because otherwise there's a strong chance she'll never know. He was right. She'll never know. I'm about to die.

I feel bones cracking and blood streaming, but still I don't cry out in pain, I don't say a word. I'm going to go through this with my pride left. I'm going to go down for running after Caitlin—for trying to fight for my allies in this game. Hopefully, the people back home will respect that. And, hopefully, Bambi will get out of these games alive. And, hopefully, Will will tell her everything. And then she'll know. And then maybe she'll understand what I didn't get to tell her the day before the games began. Before my death.

Before I feel my breath slowly releasing I smile. Smile for my sister Hanna, back at home. For my little baby brother I'll never really get to know. For my parents, who, I'm sure, aren't having a good time watching me die.

"I love you all," I gasp out for my family, for Bambi. That's all I can get out before I can't catch my breath any longer and I just give up trying to fight for it.


	24. Soaked

**A/N: Woo! ****Not as many deaths in this chapter. Don't think they're the sad kind, either.**

**Review pretty please****? (:**

**Robert's POV (8)**

I'm tackled by Trafford from District Two. He's the one who thinks he's hot and charming and all in his interview. We're struggling on the ground and I think I'm winning until he does an unfair chop to my throat with the side of his hand and overpowers me, beginning to really get into a rhythm of punching me and kicking me and stuff.

I try to push him off but he's heavier than me. Why didn't I look at hand-to-hand combat during training?

"Hey," someone says, and Trafford stops for a minute to turn to whoever's talking to him. "That's the kid that tried flirting with me."

It's the Bambi girl from Nine.

I flip my hair out of my face and smile at her. "Hey there."

She groans and walks away. "I can't watch this."

I sigh. This is what I get for following Nicholas. He led me right into the careers' hands, right to my death.

Before I die, I decide to flash a smile. "I love you all. My mother my father. Don't worry about me, though, I'm in a happy place. And Madi. I love you, too. I knew I would die, I just didn't want—"

"Oh, just shut _up_ already, man" Trafford mutters before knocking my head on the cactus, and for a few seconds pain shoots through me, but then the pain's gone and everything fades away.

* * *

**Ryli's POV (7)**

I look on at the battles. The careers are too concerned with Robert's allies to even look in my direction, and so I start off in a sprint to the jungle. If they don't see me, and I get enough space between all of us, I might be able to find the Cornucopia before anyone else. That would be a major advantage.

Three cannons go off as I'm racing into the jungle. One for Nicholas. One for Caitlin. One for Robert. Only three have died, and it's been over forty minutes. Without weapons the bloodshed must be weak—I don't doubt it at all that the Gamemakers are already planning something.

As I enter the jungle, I take a look around. Nothing looks too dangerous. I can't see any wild animals. I take another step in, and branches crackle underneath my feet. So I tiptoe throughout all the leaves and branches and anything else that would make noise, and walk for about twenty minutes deeper into the jungle. I manage to find trees. And trees. And more trees.

I pull myself into one of them, struggling with the lack of upper body strength I have to get up high. But I know I must keep climbing. And so I do, even though there are few branches on whatever type of tree this is, until I reach the top where the branches are too thin to support my weight. There I sit, leaning my back against the tree with my feet up. I feel exhausted. I'll go out and search for some water and food later; once today's general excitement has died down.

I close my eyes and let out a breath. Running that length was not easy, let me tell you. I'm not sure I could walk or climb any more even if I wanted to, and I actually find myself yawning. But how can I be tired?

Yawning again, I wrap my legs around the branch and rest my head on another. A little nap won't hurt… will it?...

* * *

**Marina's POV (2)**

We're walking through the jungle when Ariel hears is. She orders us all to stop moving and shut up, and we do. It takes us a while to hear what she's hearing, but eventually I can tell it's walking. Far off in the distance, but walking nonetheless. As we listen the walking quickly turns to running, and Ariel and Alexander and Keith and Nikole are taking off ahead of me and Trafford and Bambi.

"Their bloodlust is worse than the Capitol's," Bambi says with a snort, and picks at one of her cuticles. She's not my favorite person in this competition. I'll kill her if I ever get the chance. But she's not as annoying as that Nikole girl who puked during her interview.

Trafford turns to look at me. "What do you think?"

The way he says it, the way his eyes keep shifting to the spot where the others disappeared, I know he's not talking about the stronger careers' bloodlust. During the past few weeks, Trafford and I have been training together and making a bond a brother and sister would make. He knows what I'm thinking at times, and I know what's going through his mind right now. What he _really_ means by _What do you think?_

Ariel and Alexander and Keith and Nikole are gone. We can either follow them, or separate from them. They'll be weaker. We'll be stronger. None of them really know a lot about survival, unlike us. We might have a better chance at winning the games; it's less likely they'll be killing any of us in our sleep, now.

I nod at Trafford. Then turn to Bambi. "We're leaving. You can come with us or stay with the others. But if you go now we're no longer allies."

Bambi looks at the place where the four tributes disappeared into the woods. Trees stand in their place and Trafford, getting impatient, goes, "Well?"

"Okay. I'll come," she says finally.

***

The three of us go farther and farther into the jungle, farther and farther away from the others. We haven't seen a sign of life in a couple hours, and there's only been three cannons fired so far. The Gamemakers have to be planning something soon.

I think we're all getting thirsty—none of us daring to say so—when I can hear it. At first I think it's some kind of animal, maybe a stampede or something, but the noise is consistent in speed and keeps getting louder as we walk. I exchange a look with both Trafford and Bambi before all three of us break into a run, the weird noise getting louder and louder until I see a clearing up ahead, through the trees. As we escape from the jungle and into the clearing, I'm too stunned to say anything.

It's a waterfall. It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen—the whole thing is probably two hundred metres across and two hundred wide. I can't see the bottom of it, but I suspect there are rocks underneath the mist. The lake beneath us is a long drop, layered with jagged rocks; there's no way somebody could climb down that without the right equipment, and I hope that this isn't the only water source we'll be able to find.

But, really, wouldn't _that_ be just my luck.

"Why is this even here?" Bambi asks. "Why would the Gamemakers put this here? So tributes could fall off? Do they have cameras at the bottom, or something?"

I'm thinking the same thing just as Trafford says, "It's rising."

I look at him. "What do you mean _it's rising?_"

He points. "The water. The water is rising."

Bambi and I take a step closer to the edge of the cliff to see what he's seeing. At the bottom, there's something moving, and at first it's nothing, but then the waves become unmistakably waves as they crash against the rock, rising up and towards us.

"Oh, shit," I say. "Run."

We all turn to run away, hopefully get out of this place before the water catches up with us, but Trafford cries out suddenly, and Bambi and I turn to see him falling through a crack emerging from the side of the cliff, lightning bolt-shaped, in the ground. His hands are scraping the surface, trying to hold on, and I grab one while Bambi grabs the other. We pull, but the crack is getting bigger as the water gets higher, and Trafford's feet are just touching the soil when another crack in the ground opens. Bambi sprints forward and leaps over one. I do the same, with Trafford at my heels.

We're running through the trees, trying to outrun the separating ground and get far enough away before the water hits. I can hear the ground splitting open, a sickening crack under me, and Trafford, behind me, is scrambling and jumping over the crack as it widens and elongates.

"Bambi," I hear him pant. "Marina. The water."

I dare a glimpse over my shoulder. I regret it immediately. There's a tall water wall coming for us, making a shadow as it passes more and more land.

"Climb," Bambi says, and helps me boost Trafford up into a tree. This tree has no branches, and it looks like we'll have to rely on our body strength. Next, I boost Bambi into the tree, and she pushes Trafford up higher. They both outstretch an arm, which I grasp onto to hoist myself onto the light brown trunk. I can't help but take a look at the nearing water wall every so often—it's getting closer and closer every time I push myself up an inch with the soles of my feet.

"HANG ON!" Trafford screams from the top, and I hug the tree, winding my arms and legs around its trunk, and hoping it'll be enough to keep me on.

It isn't. I'm the lowest on the tree, and so the water has more impact on me than it does on Trafford or Bambi. I'm completely submerged underwater, reaching out with my arms, desperately looking for something to hang on to, anything, otherwise I'm going to knock into one of the other trees and drown or be killed by the force it creates.

I feel someone grab my wrist, and I hang on tight. The current is pushing me otherwise, but I can't let go. Letting go means death. I'm not going to die on the first day of the games. Now, someone grabs onto my other wrist, and both hands pull me in closer to the tree.

Eventually, after holding my breath for the longest I've ever managed to hold it, the current decreases and the water level slowly sinks down, leaving Trafford, Bambi and I soaked and breathless on the ground.

I choke out some more of the water—it's salt, I realize grimly, not fresh—as another cannon goes off. That brings the death toll up to four.

Enough to keep the Gamemakers satisfied?

Probably not.

"We have to move," I say, "before something else like that happens again."

* * *

**Liam's POV (6)**

Odyss and I are in the forest when the careers come. At first it's just footsteps, but then those footsteps turn into running. Odyss is dashing ahead of me, even though my plan had originally been for him to take the bullets for me. So _he_ was the one to die. So _I_ was the one to last until the end. I guess this kid isn't as dumb as he appeared to be.

"Odyss," I say after about a minute of running. I'm already out of breath. "Hey, buddy, wait up!"

"Look!" a twisted, raspy voice says from behind me. It sounds evil. It sounds like a witch. "It's a ginger!"

Odyss is far ahead of me, now; I don't know if he doesn't realize I'm about to be attacked by the witch of District Four or _does_ realize it, and doesn't want to come back and help—so I lean over and pick up a large branch on the ground. I swing it around with both arms, all the force I can gather, but Ariel lifts up her arm and the branch breaks in half as it comes into contact with her muscles.

"Frick," she says. "That hurt."

She lunges, but I sidestep. I contemplate whether I should make a break for it or try and fight, but either way I'm going to die. Maybe luck will be on my side and something will happen, or Odyss will come back with a sword—having found the Cornucopia—and chop Ariel to pieces.

And that's when the wave hits.

I had heard that noise before but didn't think of it much—how bad could it be, really? But as the shadow towers over us just prior to the wall of water crashing down, it's obvious that it could be very bad. Very bad indeed.

I'm thrown back, back into a tree by the rough current. My neck snaps, and it only takes moments for the pain to overtake all of my senses. My eyes feel heavy. My neck feels broken. But the wave doesn't stop—it continues to push me back into the tree, until I'm free of it and I think I've escaped when I hit another tree. This time it's my head that feels the pain, and before my world descends into the dark I allow a few tears to roll down my cheeks, adding to the waves of salt water.


	25. Just Jump

**A/N: ****It's a late chapter if you consider how fast I've been updating lately.**

**I'll update more over the weekend, though. I promise. **

**But reviews make me write faster (: **

**Ebony's POV (5)**

I'm in the jungle looking for rocks when the fourth cannon goes off. I've collected a branch about the size of the bow I trained with back in the Capitol and am looking for something to make arrows—more good-sized sticks and rocks with a fine enough point. Getting away from the bloodbath, if you could even call it that, had been pretty easy. The careers didn't even look at me—my size could be an asset too, I guess—and were more concerned with the larger tributes.

Water starts to puddle at my feet, and I look around for a larger source but there is none, so I go back to searching for sharp rocks.

"I saw him go this way," a voice says. "He ran when Ariel got Liam…"

I drop my branch in a panic, recognizing Nikole's voice, and look around for a place to hide. If I had made my bow and arrow by now maybe, maybe, I could take them; but I haven't, and so I jump up onto a tree trunk and try to pull and push my way up. But I can hear all their footsteps, and I know I'll never be able to get high enough to stay hidden. Jumping down, I search around. They're coming through the trees. I have to get out of here. I have to—

"Ebony," I hear a hushed voice say. I glance around. "Ebony! Look up!"

Odyss is above me, hanging upside-down off a tall branch off the tree, supported by just his knee pits. His long hair is falling over his eyes and covering his face; I can't tell what he's thinking when he says, "Grab on," and outstretches his hands to me to hold on to.

I don't hesitate. I jump and reach out, grasping onto his hands just in time for him to pull me up onto the same branch he's on as the tributes fully emerge from the trees and look around. He puts a finger to his lips. Like I'm stupid. Like I don't already know to be quiet.

"You let him get away," Ariel says to Alexander, and swears.

"_I_ let him get away?" he snaps. "Please. Out of all the people to blame here—"

"I blame you." Even from up above, I can see the daggers shooting out of Ariel's eyes. "Because it is your fault, Alexander. Now please just _shut your mouth._"

I'm beginning to wonder if they've just given up on the whole star-crossed lovers thing when Alexander says, "Okay, beautiful," winks, and nudges Keith, who rolls his eyes.

The careers disappear without noticing Odyss and I hanging in the tree above them—which is good, because us two don't stand a chance against the four of them.

Odyss grins at me once they've gone far enough into the jungle so they can't hear us. "So. You sure you don't need any help?

* * *

**Trawny's POV (11)**

"Did you hear that?" I ask Violet, for about the tenth time since we've got into the jungle, in a whisper. We both stop for a second and listen. Nothing. We continue moving.

"Trawny, how many times do I have to tell you? There's nobody here. We all ran in different directions, and I didn't see anyone come the way we went, so I think we're safe. For now, anyways."

But I hear it again. Twigs snapping. And then one falls down from a tree and hits me in the head.

"Violet…" I say, and slowly look up. Just before feet come into contact with my face I let out a scream so high-pitched and loud I think I see Violet cover her ears, and then I'm on the ground with someone lying on top of me.

Violet automatically gets into her warrior-like stance, ready to attack, but the girl who landed on top of me gets up and runs away, her dirty blonde hair flowing like a cape behind her. Neither of us speaks as we both turn to look up in the tree where the girl, who looked like Ryli from District Seven, had fallen from. There's a large broken branch at the top.

"That was weird," Violet says. "Are you okay?"

I touch my face. My hand comes back with blood. My nose is bleeding. But other than that I can't find much more damage, so I wipe some blood away with my shirt—hey, it looks like I actually fought someone—and we continue moving through the forest. Water? Food? I don't know what we're looking for.

But as the hours drag on, I get thirstier and thirstier, and soon exhausted enough to sit down with my back leaning on a tree. Violet sits beside me. I can't hear much in this jungle; maybe something's happening on the other side, and that's why the Gamemakers are choosing not to make any action with the District Elevens. So I cherish this peaceful moment. It could be my last.

Violet looks at me. "Do you hear that?"

"No. What?"

We both listen. Nothing.

So we go back to being silent and leaning against the trunk of trees, until a bunch of birds fly out of the trees and out into the sky—farther and farther away into the distance.

"That's weird," Violet says, again. "Why are they doing that?"

And then we hear it.

I can't tell what exactly, at first, but the ground starts to rumble under us. And I still can't figure anything out when Violet grabs my hand and screams at me to hurry up and run. She practically drags me along the jungle ground, over the pointy tree roots and insects I've never seen before as the rumbling gets louder and louder. I turn my head for a split second, to see if I can take a look at whatever's causing the ground to do that, but I can't. All I can see is, in the distance, trees are falling over.

"What is it?" I yell at Violet, over the noises.

She doesn't reply. She drags me along, both of us breathing heavily. She somehow manages to get over all the bumps in the soil gracefully as I jump and hop and skip and do whatever I can just to stay six feet behind her.

Where we're running; I don't think it matters. I think all Violet's thinking right now is how to get out of this place, away from the reverberating noise. Whatever that is.

And that's when I see them. The trees are clearing faster and I catch a glimpse of the noise.

It's a stampede.

And those elephants are at least thirty-times my size.

Violet and I get to a clearing in the trees, and a large waterfall is on the opposite side of us in a big cavern. The roaring and rumbling is getting really loud, now, and there's no way we could get to the other side before they get to us. Just as the first blur of grey pushes through the trees, Violet yells, "JUMP!" and dives into the big cavern, where mist is layered at the bottom of the ragged rocked walls.

Well, do I have a choice?

I jump.

* * *

**Bridger's POV (7)**

I've been wandering around this desert for hours. Yeah, I'm thirsty, and yeah, I'm hungry. But all the other tributes are now in the jungle—minus four—and I know I can go a little longer without water and food. My mentor told me my sponsors were practically lining up, too, so it's not like I'm gonna die.

The sand is just freaking annoying now. My shirt is over my head, and I'm walking slowly over a sand mount, wondering where the hell I'm going to go. I'd say the Cornucopia, but it's hidden. Freaking Gamemakers.

What are they thinking now, anyways? They have to be planning something. A nice sandstorm for me, maybe, or a lightning bolt that strikes and slowly electrocutes me to death. As I'm thinking of ways they might kill me, I go up to a cactus and poke a part of the green plant where there is no spikes. I use a small rock to dig inside it, and a drop of water drizzles out.

I need something to bash this thing open.

But there's nothing in this desert. If I want a weapon, I'll have to find it in the jungle.

Of course I do. So I flash the most inappropriate finger in the air as I head off in that direction.

Damn the Gamemakers.

* * *

**Zed's POV (10)**

Why did I rescue Victoria?

I don't effing know. She was lying there, in the sand, about to die from being beaten up by Alexander, and I happened to be hiding behind a hill of sand only a few feet away from there, watching the entire thing happen. And then the careers left into the jungle. And I stayed on the hill for a bit, contemplating my options.

And, because I know you're all thinking it, it was for the sponsors. Not for Victoria.

But I regret it as soon as she fully comes into consciousness. I'm making something that will help me blend into the dirt and trees with some soil and leaves when I hear her squeal, "I knew you would come through, Zed, I _knew_ it!"

Not looking up from my camouflage, I say, "Yeah," and stare at the top of a tree. The cameras are getting that stare right now; it's a stare that says I'm-going-to-kill-you, and when my mentor sees it he'll know it's meant especially for him. "Look. Can you be quiet for, like, five minutes while I make the camouflage?" She hasn't said anything yet, no, but I know it's probably on the way.

"Zed…" she says, and I grimace as I mash the leaves and soil into a paste. I don't want to hear this. "Thank you."

I have the urge to smile, but don't. "You're welcome, Victoria," I say in monotone.

As I finish up all the camouflage and spread it over my bright white shirt and a bit on my face and bare skin, I turn around to find Victoria sleeping peacefully under a tree, lying on the ground, not one inch of her skin free of a scratch or cut or a speck of blood. She really went through a beating, didn't she? So I spread some of the paste on her, too, just in case, and sit beside her and keep watch for any tributes.

I suppose she deserves some rest.

* * *

**Tiffany's POV (1)**

I stay on the border of jungle and desert for as long as I can. Water puddles at my feet at one point, and so I get up and walk along the border till I can't move my feet any longer and have to sit back down. Four cannons have gone off. Three are for my former allies—Caitlin, Nicholas, and Robert. I don't know who the fourth is for, but when they play the anthem tonight I guess I'll find out.

I'm starving and thirsty and need something in my stomach. I'm not used to having so little to eat and drink, and so I go into the jungle and hope I can find, well, _anything_. I don't get too far, though, because if I know going deeper may be entering career territory. The one place I really don't want to be in this arena.

I try to scrape a cactus with some rocks, get only a few drops off, which I guzzle down in seconds and instantly crave more; but, not knowing what else to do, I continue hitting the cactus with the tiny rock and only receiving a few drops per hit, but it's water nonetheless.

I lie down under the trees, but half of my right arm is lying on the hot sand of the desert. Maybe, I should just die like this. If the careers catch me they'll make it a show. They'll make it so the Capitol will enjoy it—painful. If I just drift off to sleep, now…

That's when a small silver parachute falls out of the sky. It lands on my stomach, and I look over my nose at it. Sponsors? I have sponsors? I sit up and eagerly hold the shiny piece of life in my hands, but soon grow impatient and rip it open.

A tiny roll of bread.

That's it? A roll of bread? Someone was considerate enough to sponsor me, yeah okay whatever, but a _roll of bread?_ Not even some water? Juice maybe, to keep me up and going and killing off tributes? Oh, no, but here. I'll send you a roll of bread.

I chew it down anyways though, because I'm starving. I give two thumbs up to the sky, to whoever sent me the bread, and walk off to hit the cactus with a rock some more. A few more drops, but just enough to moisten my lips. Just enough to tease me. Just enough for me to want more.

"Okay," I hear a tired voice say from behind me. I freeze. "Look. I don't really _want_ to kill you. I'm exhausted and all I want is to curl up and have a nice nap. So, let's just make this quick. How do you want it to go? You can choose, really, I don't care."

Bridger, I realize, from District Seven. He got a ten in training. I heard he used an axe and cut up a bunch of dummies like he was simply ripping up paper. There's no way I can fight him off. No way at all. But I turn around slowly, and face him, although by doing this I may be accepting my death.

He _does_ look tired. Those bags are pretty big.

"I said you can choose," he repeats. "Quick, I'm guessing?"

I need to run. I'm not fast, but if I could just surprise him…

"Okay, you lost your chance. I get to choose now." He starts walking towards me, his blond hair hanging slightly in one eye, but I bring my foot up and kick him where it'll hurt him. To my surprise he grunts and falls back a bit, so I push him into the cactus. And when he tries to reach out to catch himself his right hand gets poked by all the spikes, and, as he cries out in pain, I race into the jungle and away from my death.


	26. Pass the Beetles

**A/N: ****Thank you to everyone who has reviewed (: Pleaseeee keep reviewing, guys? **

**I hope you guys like it! **

**Keith's POV (1)**

We lost the Twos and Bambi. I don't know how, or when, it happened. And I don't really care. All that matters is that there's four of us now—four to kill off the rest—until it gets down to just us. That's when I have to kill Nikole. Either Alexander or Ariel will be gone by then. Most likely Alexander, by the way he keeps acting as a star-crossed lover. It'll be Ariel and I in the final two, I predict, but she won't know what hit her.

When that wall of water comes, the only person that really gets hurt is Ariel. She slams into a tree when the water pushes her that way, but she hangs on to it and comes out with only a broken finger, which Alexander makes a leaf-and-stick cast for. The rest of us are too far back to have a lot of damage done. Water up to our waists that sent us flying onto our backs. Whoop-dee-do.

"Are we going to find food?" asks Nikole. We're going through the jungle, me with a make-shift spear (a stick and a rock, made by Alexander), and Ariel and Alexander with their own weapons I didn't really care to take a good look at. Nikole has no weapon. She's too busy playing with her hair and inspecting the dirt under her nails. I really can't wait to kill her.

"When you find food," Ariel growls, "let us know."

We're all getting fed up with Nikole. She does nothing but follow us around and complain about her looks—oh, how they _must_ be fading out here in the jungle. Shut the hell up, Nikole, it hasn't even been a full day, yet.

But my stomach is growling and throat is aching, so I turn to Ariel and Alexander. "She's right. We should find some food and water before the anthem tonight."

They can't not listen to me. I'm what's holding this alliance together. Without me, Ariel would surely kill Alexander, become weak, and die in the jungle. Without me, let's face it, everyone would die.

We find a banana tree—hard to spot, though, because the leaves and bananas are so high up that it's barely visible from the ground—and Ariel climbs up and throws a bunch down. One hits Alexander in the head. I doubt that was an accident.

I pick one up off the ground, peel it, and shove it down my throat; it tastes delicious. I eat two more before Alexander stops me. "We need to save some, in case we can't find more later."

Rolling my eyes, I don't bother arguing and pick up some more to save. The only place to put them is in my pants, it's not like I have a backpack handy or anything, which earns me an appalled look from Nikole. I ignore it while we continue going through the jungle, now looking for some water. Where would water be in a jungle? I have no freaking clue.

Alexander does, though; he's the one leading us through the trees, which Ariel doesn't look too happy about.

"Guys," Nikole says. "They're so cute. Look up."

Everyone stops to look up. There're monkeys, hanging down from vines, right above us, staring down. They're big monkeys. Twice my size, black fur covering them head-to-toe—I'd say they're apes, but they appear... more _human, _almost, than ape_._ Not cute at all. Their stares tell me all they want to do is tear us apart.

"Take two steps back, really slowly," I order. Each of us takes two, cautious steps back. Each monkey swings to a new vine, staying right above us. "They're going to attack. Any ideas?"

"Run?" Nikole suggests, like it couldn't be more obvious.

"No!" Ariel yells in a whisper. "If anyone makes any sudden movements, they're going to come down here and kill us. There's five of them. Without weapons we'll die."

But it's too late. Nikole begins to run. And the monkeys jump down, all nine feet of each mutated one towering above us and ready to pounce.

* * *

**Cheyenne's POV (3)**

We get away from the careers for two reasons. One, the wave. And two, Liam.

I could hear them behind us as Krow, Mara, Connor and I ran, not daring to even take the split second to look over our shoulder and see how far off they were behind us. At one point while we were running, through the trees I saw a short figure. A flash of red was all I could really make out about it, but that was enough to realize it was Liam from Six. And that's when the water hit.

It had a low impact. Nothing damaging at all—most of it was blocked by a tall, bare tree with a thick trunk and branches and roots sticking out at every which angle. We stood behind this tree so it would take most of the pressure for us, and watched the water part on either side, almost waist-high, and listened to screams of Liam's and the battle cries of Ariel's. Mara's eyes were shut, like she didn't want to even imagine what could've been going on.

If Liam hadn't been there, Ariel would've kept searching for us.

The careers talked—something about a broken finger—and the footsteps, now splashing through puddles of water, began to come towards our tree. The branches were too tall to reach. Climbing was not an option. Running would bring too much attention, but maybe we were faster…

"Get under," Krow said, and gestured to an opening from the roots and trunk under the tree. It was small, only about half a metre high, but Mara and Connor got through easily by lying on their stomachs and pulling themselves through. Krow and I did the same.

Inside the tree trunk it was dark and squished, but it was safety. The careers passed, and we crawled out and looked around before breaking into a run in the opposite direction that the careers had gone in.

We found a small cave embedded in a hill kind of separated from the rest of the jungle. It smelt horrible. But it's a place where we could spend the night, and so I dealt with just breathing through my mouth.

That's where we sit now, in a circle, talking about what we're going to do next. We're not in control of this game—not yet—but once some of the careers are gone we might have a chance of winning these games.

One of us, that is.

***

There are some puddles in the cave, dripping off the roof from condensation. Starting a fire to boil the water would not only be impossible in this rock-walled cave, but also dangerous. But, we're all thirsty, so we each drink some. My throat's no longer sore once the puddles are all gone—it'll keep me going until tomorrow, at least.

Now that our thirst is quenched for the most part, Krow and I get out of the cave to look for some food, he's mentioned he's good at hunting before a few times. And after half an hour we manage to scout out a plant that looks edible; no white or yellow berries or leaves in groups of three, something we learned during training to stray away from.

Going back to the cave, we find a nest of beetles nestled under a rock. The beetles are large and look disgusting, but it'll be something in our stomachs, and, after smashing every one we could catch with a rock, we bring our findings to Connor and Mara.

"How do you know they aren't poisonous?" Connor asks, looking disgustedly at the beetles.

"They aren't bright colored and aren't hairy or anything, so it's just a guess," Krow tells him. "They might have parasites. I'm not sure. But starting a fire to roast 'em might be a problem. So eat it or don't."

While the rest of us wrap a beetle in part of the plant, Connor just nibbles on the plant itself. It can't taste much better than what I'm having right now, the beetles taste pretty repulsing, but after I'm done my stomach is no longer as empty as it was before. Actually, I feel like I could go for a few more days without any more food or water at all.

"Do you guys feel, like, excited?" Mara asks suddenly, and stands up and hops from one foot to another. "I feel _hyper_. Let's go kill some tributes or something while we have this much energy, guys."

I stand up, too, because it's like I have a bunch of happiness bottled inside of me and I need to let it out. I laugh and jump up and down.

"When I was a boy," Krow says, staring at the far, black wall, "I had this horrible, irrational fear of caterpillars."

My vision is kinda blurry because I'm jumping and all, but I can see Connor frown when he says, "Really?"

Krow snorts. "No. I can't believe you believed me!"

Mara and I burst into laughter, still prancing around the cave. That was funny.

"Connor!" Mara exclaims. "Come dance!"

"Yeah!" I motion him over, but he stays sitting on the ground, staring like a creep up at us.

"What's wrong with you guys?" Connor won't stand up, so I go over and grab his wrist to help him, but he rips it free. "Stop, Cheyenne. Something's wrong here."

"Because we're _happy_?" Mara inquires, and stops jumping for a second to talk. "C'mon Connor, _lighten up_, buddy! Let's have a good time tonight!" Then she goes back to dancing and jumping around, and I join her, because all the happiness is still bottled inside of me.

While we're dancing and having the time of our lives, Connor is inspecting the remainder of the beetles. Remembering how good they tasted, I crave more. "Hey, Connor! Pass me a beetle!" Mara and Krow nod and demand him to get them some more, too, but he shakes his head, sniffs the bug and flinches, and then gathers the rest in his hands. I'm thinking he's going to eat some but instead he tosses them all out the cave entrance and stomps on them, one by one, until they're ground to little pieces.

"What the hell, man?" Krow says. "What was that for?"

"Did you even _smell_ them?" he asks.

"Why would we smell them?" I say. "It already smells bad enough in here. I haven't been breathing through my nose for forever now."

"Me either," Mara and Krow pipe in in unison.

"Well, they smell _really _strongly like alcohol," Connor mutters. "I'm assuming you're all extremely drunk."

But I'm having too much fun to really even hear him.

* * *

**Nikole's POV (6)**

The monkeys I thought might've looked sort of cute close up glare at all of us. There's one standing in front of me, like, two feet taller, with its chest puffing up and down. It's on all fours, so I know if he stood up he'd be even taller and more menacing.

"Oh, shit," Keith says, and some more words. "Nikole, why did you _run?_"

To get away, dumbass, I want to say, but my heart is beating too fast in my chest for me to get anything out. The monkey is closer, sniffing near my throat, and I know when this over my worst fear will no longer be bees. Ariel snaps, "If you move he'll rip your throat out. At this point I don't care. Move all you'd like, Nikole; it'll save me the trouble of killing you later."

Bitch.

"What do they want?" Alexander asks, just as one moves closer and closer to Keith. Keith falls backwards, and scrambles back on his hands to try and make distance between him and the monkey, but it follows him until his back hits the trunk of a tree and can't move any further. The monkey thing sniffs up his leg and all of us are silent, wondering if it's going to kill Keith.

Then the monkey stands up on its hind legs and lets out a cry so loud I need to plug my ears. But as quickly as it went up it goes back down on all fours and reaches up with its arm, seemingly ready to bring it down upon the District One tribute, when Keith holds up both arms and says, "Wait, wait! I know what you want! I know what you want! _Wait!_"

It must be the tone of his voice that makes the monkey slowly puts his arm back down. Keith reaches into his pants.

"What are you _doing, _Keith?" Alexander groans.

Keith pulls out the bananas we found hanging in that tree and takes one and outstretches it to the monkey. The monkey's snout moves over the fruit for a moment, but then hits it out of Keith's palm swiftly with the back of its hand. Ariel and Alexander take out the bananas they had collected and throw them a good five feet away from everyone. But I keep mine, secretly tucked away up my right pant leg. I'm starving, and maybe the monkey things won't notice I still have mine if all they see is Keith and Alexander and Ariel throwing theirs away.

"Nikole," Ariel says, between her teeth. "Give them your fruit."

"I didn't take any," I tell them. I look at the monkey and slowly mouth my words, in case it doesn't quite understand. "I. Took. No. Banana."

"Nikole, give him the damn thing."

"Alexander." I snap my head around to look at him. "They don't even understand what I'm saying. I could say I'm hiding the fruit right now from them, and they'll never know. You know why? They're too stupid to realize it."

The last thing I see before everything goes black is the entire pack of monkeys running towards me.


	27. Darn Cactus

**A/N: Sorry it's so short =/ But I**** just wanted to get a chapter out there, since I didn't update Sunday.**

**Ryli's POV (7)**

The stupid tree branch breaks when I wake up from my little nap. I struggle for a minute, trying to hang onto a thinner branch, but then that one snaps in half as well and I fall down, onto the kid from District Eleven's head. I get up quickly, though, and run away faster than I've ever run before. Violet's the one whose specialty is martial arts.

The nap probably wasn't the best idea, because now I'm much hungrier and thirstier than I was before. I walk for a while, until I reach a dip in the land that leads me to a small pond and a couple edible plants. Proud of myself for making this accomplishment, I cup some of the water in my hands and bring it to my mouth.

Salt water.

I spit it out, but chow down on the plant. Gross, but something to keep me going. I still need to find some water but, not having enough strength to stand up and walk more than I already have, I put the palms of my hands over my eyes and take in a few deep breaths. How did I even get here? From my average life, back in District Seven, with my sisters and mother to being here in the arena? To be competing in the Hunger Games? It just doesn't make any sense. What did I do to deserve it all?

Lifting my palms from my eyes I take one last breath. Water. That's my main concern. Find water.

There's not much left here at this round pond for me besides the edible plants that surround it, and so I eat some more of that. Once my stomach's full I shove some up the legs of my pants, in case I need any later, and stray away from the source of useless, salt water, and back into the jungle. I really don't think I've ever gone so long without fluid in my body.

The anthem comes on. I still haven't found water or a place to spend the night. But nobody seems to be in this part of the jungle right now—I hear a few birds calling out to each other but that's about it—so I sit down and allow myself another few moments of relaxation. The last time I relaxed it didn't turn out so well. This time, though, I won't be falling asleep.

I can see the seal projected in the night sky through an opening in the tree tops. Deaths are lower than during any other Hunger Games I've witnessed before: Caitlin. Nicholas. Robert. All of one alliance, gone. Liam. Nikole. Well, that's kind of reassuring to know that a career was killed on the first day of the games.

Then again, it's not like she was really the brightest of the bunch.

"Ryli?"

I jump at the sound of another voice, but settle back down. Who am I kidding? Fighting would be useless. Hand-to-hand combat is obviously not my forte. We may as well just get this over with.

Two figures, one larger and one smaller, step out from the darkness so I can see them clearly. Ebony and Odyss, both from District Five, stand in front of me. Ebony has what looks like a spear in her hand, but it's visibly just made from scraps of materials she found around the jungle herself, and Odyss is holding something similar to Ebony's. He looks uncomfortable with it.

"Hello," I say. How much will it hurt to get pierced with that piece of wood he's holding?

"Do you have any allies?" Ebony says immediately, looking around.

I just shake my head. I had talked to Ebony once or twice, after the chariot rides and sometimes during training. Maybe they'd take pity and make sure I didn't really feel anything when they killed me. Maybe they'd understand I had family back at home, and I didn't want them watching me die a terrible death.

"Are you thirsty?" Ebony asks. She tosses me a canteen, full to the rim with water, and I blink at her. "Sponsors," she tells me.

Well, I guess the whole brother-and-sister thing her and Odyss had been trying to pull off had worked. Nobody sent me a canteen full of water.

I take a bit of a sip, not wanting to be greedy, but, although luke-warm, the water slides smoothly down my throat and I can't help but take gulps of it. I restrain myself in the end from drinking the entire canteen, but barely.

"Thanks," I say, refreshed.

"We have a lot," Odyss says.

I bet.

"Do you have anything to eat?" Ebony asks. That must've been why they'd given me a drink of their water. But, being nice, I nod and take some of the edible plant from my pant leg. After they've both eaten a handful, all I had had left, Ebony says, "Thank-you. Neither of us is very good finding the edible ones."

I shrug. What am I supposed to say to that?

"You're good with finding food?" Ebony says.

"Sure," I say. "I guess."

Odyss and Ebony look at each other for a moment, like they're having a conversation through their thoughts. Considering which way to kill me, maybe?

But, instead, Odyss looks at me and says, "Allies?"

* * *

**Bambi's POV (9)**

We find this opening under a big tree with a lot of branches, and that's where we spend the night. It's kind of a tight fit—Marina, Trafford and I—but nobody'll find us here while we're sleeping.

Five tributes died today. Nikole, Liam, Caitlin, Nicholas and Robert. The three of us have discussed how we think Nikole died, and we're going for the approach that the others killed her out of boredom and annoyance.

"I'll keep watch first," I say, and they don't argue. Within seconds of sitting down at the entrance, I can hear the two of them snoring from inside, and I lean my head back down on the grey bark and rest my feet on a high root. Deciding to ally with the Twos was a good decision, I think. The others would've killed us all off, eventually, when we weren't expecting it.

The stars are shining really brightly, and I catch a few glimpses of them as I stand up, brush the dirt off my pants, and start to look around for something I could use as a weapon. I find a large stick, and I sharpen one of the edges on the tree until it's a fine point. Then I sit back down, my feet back up on the tree root and head back on the trunk. I've considered killing off one of my allies, because of their strength, but almost instantly realize that would be a mistake. They're so close to each other the other one would kill me.

Besides, I might need them in the end.

Although the Cornucopia's hidden, today was a pretty eventful day. It was a close one with the waterfall. I'm sure the Capitol just loved watching Nicholas's alliance getting beaten to a pulp by the other careers. The blood they shed during it had been disgusting, even to me; coming into this thinking I was ready to see it all. I thought watching and killing the other tributes would be easy—almost come naturally to me, because of what happened to my sister. But with each face that had appeared in the sky that night, my heart panged a bit. That could've been me.

I feel my eyelids getting heavy, so I drag myself through the small opening under the tree.

***

There're behind me. All of the tributes against just me. Marina and Trafford are with them, waving swords and other weapons that reflect some of the sun in my eyes, so I turn ahead and take leaps across the soil and over the tree roots and don't look back. My entire body aches; aches for water and food and for me to just lie down. But I can't. Not now. They're after me.

I'm about to cross from the soil to the sand when I take another look back. A spear is heading towards me, and I try to jump out of the way, but it's too late, it's too fast, and—

I wake up, drawing in a sharp breath and sitting up so suddenly I hit my head on the roof of the tiny tree room. It makes a loud clunking noise that wakes Trafford up, and he looks over at me, agitated. "What's going on?"

"Sorry," I say, and rub the top of my head. "Nightmare."

"Oh." Trafford sits up, too, but hunches over so he doesn't touch the roof. He yawns. "Well, at least it was a nightmare. At least you can think of worse things that are happening to you right now." Smiling slightly, he says, "It's when you start dreaming of pleasant, happy things when you should be worried."

* * *

**Bridger's POV**** (7)**

When I wake up in the morning my hand is numb. I can't feel it, and I can't bend my fingers or move my wrist. It's paralyzed, I guess, which really sucks because it's my left hand; the stronger one.

But whatever. I'll manage.

I've eaten a few plants that looked edible, and cut open a cactus with a sharp tree root I pulled from the ground. After that District One girl pushed me into the plant, it took me an hour to successfully get all the little thorns from my hand. But she'll pay for it.

I slept in the desert, because it's cold in there at night and no other tribute would think of going into it. After I take another few gulps of water from my cactus, I'm sure the amount I choose to drink will keep me going for the day, I walk back into the jungle with the tree root I sharpened. First, I want to find that District One chick to let her know how pissed off I am. And then I'll go and take a nap.

* * *

**Violet's POV (11)**

While we were tumbling through the air, Trawny and I, the waterfall started to curve in more and more until it was at an angle on the cliff walls. The two of us got caught in that current and the rest of the way down was sort of fun—it was like a slide to the bottom, where we landed in a small pond. It was foggy, you couldn't see much through the mist, but it was clear enough to see we were in a small, round cave with a ledge just wide enough to stand on. From the bottom of it, all we could see was a hole, far up above us. Climbing that waterfall would be impossible. There were no secret compartments in the walls—we checked. There was no way out.

And when we wake up the next morning, everything is sore. My throat; we hadn't gotten any water. My body; we slept on the bumpy, black rock through the night. And my stomach; no food.

A tiny portion of light shines down from the far-off hole when I wake up, but I don't move. I can't move. I'm weak and starving and, surely, we're going to die from thirst down here soon enough.

"Water," I croak out, up into the empty space, hoping my mentor will hear me. But, obviously, they don't because no tiny parachute falls from the sky. Stupid, since I'm certain Trawny and I have enough sponsors for water from the whole brotherly-sisterly love thing on the chariot rides.

My back is aching, so I turn onto my stomach, forgetting there isn't enough space on the thin ledge for that shift in position. I fall into the pond of salt water, just not caring anymore. Let me die here. Peacefully. No blood shed for my family to grimace at, just me, floating to the bottom of this water. If there is a bottom.

I sink downwards. It's blackness. I can't see the walls, I don't know which way is up anymore, until my back hits more rock. I'm going to die, I realize.

But just before I completely give up, something catches my eye.

Standing tall and filled to the top with items that make my breath catch in my throat, it stands alone against the black rock. I wouldn't be able to see it if the sides weren't so curved and bright in the black.

It's the Cornucopia.

**A/N: Sorry this chapter's shorter, guys. Darn math homework has got my hands tied.**

**But reviewwww? =D**


	28. Twisted

**A/N: All of you are awesome. Really. Than****k all of you for reviewing, because you don't know how much that means (:**

**Thank you!!**

**But now that we've established, once again, that you're all awesome, let's get on with the story!**

**Ariel's POV (4)**

I couldn't care less about what happened to Nikole. Actually, I'm quite relieved. If those gorilla/monkey things hadn't attacked her, then who _would_ they have attacked?

The only thing I regret is not being the one being able to tear her apart. Feel the stretching of her flesh right before it breaks, the sweet smell of blood drifting off of the corpse, and my hands stained with red as the hovercraft comes and lifts her lifeless form up into the sky.

I wake Keith and Alexander up just before the sun rises over the trees. We should get moving. Not only today am I determined to find the Cornucopia, but to kill at least three more tributes myself. I'm sure the Gamemakers will be quenching the Capitol's thirst for bloodshed, though, so a lot of the work will be done for me.

Now, to the Cornucopia.

"I suggest we search the desert," I tell the two tributes, once they've rubbed the sleep from their eyes and are walking around the campground we've made near the edge of the jungle. "We were all there in the first place. Maybe it's hidden somewhere around there."

I want a sword. Oh, I want a sword badly. That would make the killing all the better. But I remain as reserved as I can on the outside, and continue to tell Keith and Alexander exactly what we're going to do today. "We'll search the desert. I don't care how hot it is. Nobody will die, so don't bother being dramatic. Besides, there are cactuses out there that probably have water in them, so bring a stick if you might need some later. Now, let's go."

They follow, but I hear them whispering to each other behind me as we enter the hot sun. I've used a stronger piece of vine to tie my hair back from my face, which I'm sure makes me look as attractive as it is handy, and as I whip around to stare the two of them down my ponytail smacks me in the face. The two of them giggle, but I ignore the immaturity and say, "Are you two going to help me out here, or am I going to be finding the Cornucopia on my own?"

Unfortunately, we don't run into any tributes while going to the desert. Nobody to kill. The sand picks up and swirls around us as we walk deeper, not sure what signs we're looking for, when Keith stops us. "Hey. Remember those hills of sand? What if it's hidden under one of _those?_"

"How do you suppose we'll get to it?" Alexander asks, inspecting his cuticles.

"What do you _think?_" Keith rolls his eyes. "We dig."

***

We've been digging through sand mounts for just about ever now. Sand has gotten so far under my nails I'm sure it's deep inside my finger, and my exposed skin is red and hurts whenever the smallest thing with the littlest force touches it. Finally, I stand up and look around, flipping my hair, successfully this time, for the cameras. There are millions of sand mounts. If the Gamemakers had hid the Cornucopia out here, it would take someone days to find it, lessening the blood shed.

"Keith," I growl. "It's not here."

I feel like lunging for his throat, but don't. There are only three of us in this alliance. If one of the other groups finds the Cornucopia, one of the groups with four people, and they have weapons while we don't—well, then we're screwed. So I compose myself and clench my teeth together. "It's not under one of the sand mounts, dumbass. It has to be somewhere else."

"Dumbass?" Keith stands up, wipes sand off his pants. "Call me dumbass one more time, Ariel. One more time."

I lean close enough so he's able to smell my breath. "_Dumbass._"

He jumps towards me, but I'm quicker and sidestep him. He tumbles onto the ground. Before he even gets back up, though, his fist connects with my face.

Oh, who freaking cares about this freaking alliance.

I lunge, push him back onto the ground, and claw at his throat. Who the fuck does he think he is? Punching me. First the girl from District Eleven—who is going to die a painful death, I can assure you _that_—and now this little punk from One. Keith shoves me off, and by now the sand under my fingernails is coated with bright red blood. Just as I'm about to finish him off, I feel arms pull me off Keith and throw me onto the sand.

Alexander steps in between Keith and me and says, "If you two don't stop fighting in time to get up and move, we're all going to die."

I'm wondering what he means until I look behind us and see a tall and skinny twister, swerving swiftly through the desert and heading straight for us.

* * *

**Tiffany's POV (1)**

Wandering through this jungle is difficult. I don't need any food, because I've only nibbled on that roll of bread a sponsor sent me, and don't require water at the moment, because I've also received a canteen of water. It's small, maybe about the size of my hand, but I'm making it last as long as I possibly can.

I spent the night up in a tree, quite proud of myself for pushing Bridger into that cactus. I mean, look at how strong he is. He's, like, ten times my size, and I pushed him into a thorny plant and managed to run away from him. There are really no words to describe how much this little incident has increased my confidence of winning the games. Now I feel like, with sponsors, I can do it. I can win.

After early morning passed and I started to get a little hungry and thirsty up in my tree, I hopped down with my canteen in one hand and half a roll of bread in the other, and began to walk around. I don't know what I was looking for. But I felt like I should probably do something.

I think it's the afternoon because the sun is really high in the sky as I enter a clearing, catching my breath. It's some kind of waterfall, but the water is falling into a big hole in the ground. Like a cavern. I can't see the bottom, there's just mist, so I kick at the edge with my foot. A few small pieces of rock fall down the side. I kick again and this time a much bigger piece falls down, this one the size of my head. I start to back up, back into the jungle, but then the ground splits. A crack forms, moving metres at a time in a zig-zagged form, right towards me. Clenching the roll of bread hard in my hand I start to run back, hoping to get away from the crack before it reaches me. If I fall into that cavern, I'm done for. All those sharp rocks on the side and the ones that must be at the bottom—that would be a painful death, a death I'm sure I don't deserve after outwitting Bridger back in the desert. A death I don't deserve after finally, _finally_, I have some encouragement to keep me going.

But it's too late. The ground opens up too much for me to run away from, and my feet slip into the crack. Dropping the bread and water I scrape at the sides of the walls and try to pull myself up, but even I know it's useless, and so I put my hands over my head and squeeze my eyes tight shut and hope for the best.

* * *

**Zed's POV (10)**

I have to carry Victoria through the jungle, because she can't walk on her right ankle on the uneven ground. We've each received a bit of water from sponsors, but no food, so I've resorted to finding us some edible-looking plants and covering us up with camouflage during the night. And in the morning, we just walk.

"Zed," she says as we continue to drift on and look for more edible plants. Really, there isn't much to do besides this. "Why did you _really_ save me?"

I want to answer her question. I just don't know the answer to it.

So I shrug, and keep my eye out for other tributes. We haven't run into any since the gong went off, and I'm starting to get worried; what if this is part of the Gamemakers' plan? There had been love interests in past Hunger Games, and either neither of them had gotten out alive, or one had just barely.

But the majority of them ended up being the former.

* * *

**Odyss's POV ****(5)**

Ebony, Ryli and I are on the border of the desert and jungle when we see it—it's in the distance, but it's perfectly clear. A twister, or a tornado, or something, and three small figures sprinting ahead of it and in our direction.

We don't think twice about it, we don't even have to communicate. We run deeper into the jungle, away from the figures and the tornado because, really, those three people could be anyone from Victoria to Ariel to Trafford. And if they'd spotted our little group before we'd spotted them, then we now had two ways of dying chasing after us.

I lag behind Ryli and Ebony a bit as we run, but trying my best to keep up nonetheless. Ebony's faster than I'd thought, I guess she's full of surprises, and Ryli has some of the longest legs I've ever seen and is able to sprint metres ahead of us at a time. The desert is no longer visible through the thick tree trunks, and I doubt the Gamemakers would send the twister roaring through the jungle, but we keep running anyways. Those three small figures linger in my mind. What if they _had_ seen us? And what if they _were_ careers?

"I think we're safe," Ryli pants, coming to a stop and putting her hands on her knees. "Let's rest."

"We have to keep going," I tell her. "We just have to move. We don't have to run."

Nobody even bothers arguing. Ebony and Ryli and I walk through the jungle, over tree roots and crunching through leaves and listening to the squeals of what sounds to be monkeys. I've never been this tired before, but I think of my sisters back home, their faces flashing over and over again behind my eyes, and how they must be watching me right now, telling me to keep going, not to give up yet. I listen to them, these voices and faces darting through my mind, and I even pick up the pace to the point where I'm ahead of both Ryli and Ebony.

"Where are we going?" Ebony asks. She doesn't talk much at all. Mostly just listens to what Ryli and I are saying.

I think about this for a moment. "The other side of the jungle," I inform her. There has to be something behind these trees, right?

"How do you know there's another side?" Ryli is just as out of breath as I am.

I think about this, too. "I don't."

***

We don't stop moving for another hour, which is when we stop to take a quick water break. Each of us sips a small amount from one of the canteens. All of our edible plants are gone, but Ryli promises she'll keep an eye out for some while we walk. Which we end up doing a lot of. Walking, I mean.

"Odyss," Ryli says, ripping some vines out of our path. "I don't think there's anything on the other side of this jungle. I think they just want us to think there is."

I'm about to sigh and admit I was wrong about that, but at least we put distance between us and those three tributes running away from the twister, when Ebony, who has wandered ahead of Ryli and I, lets out a scream.

I run forward out of instinct, like it's my sister who has just let out as much of a scream, pulling more vines out of the way and breaking through the trees and—

Ryli gasps, and the two of us race forward to pull Ebony up off the edge of a cliff. She's not very heavy, so we get her up within seconds. "I slipped," she tells us, but I can hardly hear her. I knew there had to be another setting—another place—in this arena. And I was right.

A vast ocean stretches out before us, waves pounding against the side of the cliff we're now standing on top of. How did we not hear this before?

I wonder for a moment if any other tribute has gotten here before us, but doubt it. I don't think anybody would even think of walking this far into the jungle when they could be safe in the middle of it, or simply just in the desert. We could spend the night down on that sand, probably without fear of elephant stampedes or twisters, and so all three of us begin looking for a way we could make our way down the cliff and onto the thin strip of grey-colored sand that's lining the beach, in one piece.

* * *

**Ariel's POV**

The freaking twister moves pretty freaking fast. I have very long legs, which I like to think are alluring in a way, but even those can't keep much distance between me and the natural disaster. Alexander and Keith are somewhere behind me, but I've given up on them. I need to take care of myself, first.

I look back at the twister. It's not that far away, now, and it's moving faster than I am. I sprint forward, instead of running I take leaps through the desert and over the flying sand. Are all the other tributes getting as much shit from the Gamemakers we've been getting? First those mutant gorillas and now they set loose a twister on us. It's like they're _rooting_ for us all to die.

The time I'm thinking all of this I probably should be concentrating on running faster, because when I turn to look at the twister again, it's closer. So close I feel my ponytail being pulled backwards, the wind tugging harder than the muscles in my legs can handle, and I feel myself slowing down, my feet just barely dragging against the sand. There's nothing to hold on to. If I fly up into it and get spit back out, the sand and cactuses will be the only thing to break my fall.

The wind is too strong and I feel myself being lifted into the air. I scream, and reach out to grab something that isn't there. Just as I'm six feet off the ground, a wrist wraps around my ankle: Alexander. I look down and see Keith's legs wrapped around a cactus, his face scrunched in pain, holding Alexander's arm. Alexander's other arm holds my ankle, and I'm about to yell at him for screaming so loud when I realize the yells ringing in my ears are actually coming from me.

I'm actually afraid, I think. I'm afraid of dying.

But, not letting the Capitol crowd see this, I put my trust into Alexander's wrist and squeeze my mouth and my eyes shut, waiting for it all to stop.

***

It does stop, eventually, and when it does it's so sudden I fall on the sand with a thud, a cracking noise coming from my back and pain shooting through me. I groan, but as I look over at Keith I know the pain I'm going through is nothing compared to his. The inside of his pants are all ripped up from the thorns, and there's puddles of blood surrounding him. Alexander is already tending to him, so I pretend I never saw anything and massage my lower back.

"Ariel," Alexander says, and I look over, widening my eyes at the sight of the blood, as if seeing it for the first time. Keith is lying down on his back, crying out in pain, but Alexander ignores him. "This cactus is poisonous."


	29. Drifting Away

**A/N: ****Sorry about another late chapter, guys. It's been a busy week. I had a few birthday parties of my cousins', and mine was yesterday. But I'm thinking the updates will get faster once all the hype dies down. (: Sorry.**

**Enjoy.**

**Connor's POV (3)**

Cheyenne, Krow and Mara woke up the morning after the beetles incident completely hung-over. Cheyenne complained about a headache and dizzy spells. Mara ran into the wall of the cave in the middle of telling us how she couldn't remember anything that went on the night before. And Krow refused to move from his sleeping spot in the very back of the cave, his hands over his eyes, until we all set out in search for food and water.

The sun is just setting after a day of walking through the jungle, eating no more insects and only edible plants that Mara found, which she then laced with some herbs. It was actually really good. A big improvement from whatever the hell I'd shoved down my throat the night before.

Suddenly Cheyenne stops all of us, motions for us to listen. We do. Far in the distance, I can hear somewhat of a roaring noise. Cheyenne is the only one who breaks into a run through the trees, and the rest of us jog behind, Mara still wobbling a little from the beetles.

I can see a bluish light, now, behind the tree tops that goes with the roaring noise. The three of us break through the trees to find Cheyenne standing just on the edge of a cliff, her arms outstretched into the open space like she's trying to feel the air, and an ocean that seems to go on forever stretching in front of us. Mara gasps. Krow's eyes widen. I don't find it all that impressive, though, to be perfectly honest. The sea isn't even blue. Or green. It's grey.

"There could be food down there," Cheyenne says, and bends over to inspect the edge of the cliff. "We can climb down, if we're careful. Besides, it's not that high, and if we fall we'll be landing on the sand." And before any of us can protest Cheyenne is lowering herself off the edge of the cliff and onto a ledge layered with moss. "Just do what I'm doing."

We put our hands and feet in the places Cheyenne does and make it to the ugly-coloured sand without a scratch. Water laps up on my shoes, and I back up into the rock. What if the tide comes in?

Mara puts a finger to her lips and points to the side of the wall. We all frown, and she points her finger again and again until I can hear what she obviously hears: Talking. A male voice, I don't know whose, saying, "Did you hear that?" and then a female's just saying, "Yeah." It could be anyone. If it's the careers, then we're screwed.

Cheyenne breaks into a run along the grey sand, which seems to stretch on forever, curving slightly where we had landed. I'm guessing it goes in a complete circle, around the jungle, and so, even though we're bound to run into whomever was speaking back there, I push my feet forwards. I hear a cannon fire while we're running, our footsteps colliding with water and my feet slowing down in the wet sand, which makes me run harder.

"Stop!" Mara screams in a hush, and sticks her arm out. Krow runs into her, and I run into Krow, and Cheyenne, ahead of us all, stops. "Look."

In the cliff there's a small hole, leading under it. Mara doesn't hesitate; she jumps right in, and slides down the dirt. We all hear a splash, but no screaming, so Krow goes after her, followed by me, and then Cheyenne. At first it's all darkness, and the bottoms of my feet pressing against Krow's back. There's just enough room in the small tunnel for me to reach out my arms to feel dirt—the hill this hole is on is so steep we're all able to just slide down.

And then, finally, my feet are no longer touching Krow's back, but falling into the darkness. And then my entire body is falling, and I hit the water.

Ice cold water. I emerge, gasping for air, but it's still pitch black. "Guys?" I call out, treading water. How deep is this thing?

"Hello?" Mara yells.

Krow says, "Where are you all?"

It's just a chorus of voices until Cheyenne's rings out. "EVERYBODY, PLEASE SHUT UP. All right. Great. Now, follow the sound of my voice." She hums, and I swim towards the tune. I would be the leader here if my voice was just as loud.

I end up touching somebody's head, who turns out to be Mara. The two of us persist with swimming together until we hit Cheyenne and Krow, whose arms seem to be outstretched and searching for us. "There's an opening here." Cheyenne takes my hand and runs it up a cold wall, until my fingers enter a hole just above my head. I wonder if this is what it would be like to be blind. I feel defenseless, shivering in here. "Pull yourself up."

Reaching up with both hands, I pull my body into the hole. I have to crawl through this hole, it's so small, but in the distance I see a light. Far in the distance. I yell this out to the others, who crawl in behind me. This tunnel is also round and small and circular and dirt is everywhere—a bug I can't see makes its way up my hand, which I shake off. When we reach the light, I can see that its bugs that are everywhere—not dirt—and I throw myself through the lighted opening to get away from the nasty things, and am once again submerged in ice cold water.

Three splashes pursue, and I take a look around. We're in a cave, again. We always end up in caves. But there are three tunnels on the other side; each one must lead to somewhere else. I swim over to inspect these tunnels, and I can feel Cheyenne swimming being me, but Krow and Mara stay back where we landed.

"Which one?" I ask.

She contemplates this. "I don't know. None of them. They all probably have some kind of death trap behind it."

I am about to climb up into one of the tunnels, and that's when everything goes wrong.

* * *

**Keith's POV**

Fucking Gamemakers. Putting a poisonous plant out in the middle of the desert. Who the fuck do they think they are? My thighs are burning, I think I'm crying out in pain, but I can't be sure, and I hear Alexander tell the stupid girl I helped him save the cactus is poisonous. I look down at my legs. Blood. All I see is blood. My legs are barely there.

"Jesus," Ariel says. "What an idiot. Why did he hold onto the cactus like that?"

"Shut up, Ariel. We would both be dead right now if it wasn't for him."

I see her scoff and stalk off before I lose my vision. Everything is blurry. My legs are burning. I knew I would get to experience moments like this—I just didn't think I'd be the one injured. The one that the Capitol watches die. Will anyone out there cry for me, I wonder? My parents won't. I wouldn't cry for them, I don't think, unless that meant we'd all go poor. My grandfather—I might cry for—but I doubt that, even. I feel too strong to cry. Especially for a small thing like death.

"Keith?" I hear Alexander say. Someone slaps me in the face. I want to slap them back, but I'm totally numb. My entire body is. "Keith, open your eyes. Don't leave."

"Medicine," I croak out. Where are the mentors when you need them? "Medicine. It hurts."

I hear Alexander sighing in relief, and something being lathered onto my legs. The pain ceases, but my vision doesn't return. I still can't move. And then Alexander swears under his breath and says something about pain reliever, nothing to do with the injury. Which is absolutely retarded. How many sponsors must I have right now? And all my mentor cares to do is send me a fucking pain reliever?

And then everything goes even darker than it was before, if that's possible, since I couldn't see in the first place, and I think I manage to give a smirk at Alexander. "I hope you District Fours get your asses handed to you." Because, c'mon, I was really the best career in this competition. If I don't win, neither should any other career.

And I'm flooded with darkness.

* * *

**Connor's POV**

First, the ceiling breaks. Not all of it, but a bunch of rocks fall into the water between me and Cheyenne and Mara and Krow, separating us in half. Cheyenne swims over instantly, ducking her head under water and looking for an opening in the tall pile of rocks, which are so high they touch the roof, yelling out to the other side and pounding her fists on the rocks.

She gives up, and I just glance at her. "It's no use," I tell her. "Let's pick a tunnel to go through or something. We're not going to survive in here." I don't wait for her response; I start to climb into the far right tunnel when water rushes out to meet me, pushing me back into the ice cold pond. Then it begins coming from the other two tunnels, too, and the water level slowly goes up.

"Shit," Cheyenne says. "Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit." She swims around desperately, and I follow pursuit, but without putting much heart into it. We're either getting out of here or we aren't, and if we are, Cheyenne is the one to figure out how. She's swimming under the rising water, now, looking for a crack in the rocks.

"The Gamemakers made it so there's no escape," she says with a long sigh. "Connor, help me. We need to move one of the rocks."

I push off the wall I'm leaning on, blinking, nothing really processing, when one of the tunnels stops giving out water. Both Cheyenne and I turn to the empty channel, but it starts up again immediately. Not thinking it's really much of anything I start to paddle to Cheyenne, but she speeds right past me and leans on the spot of the wall I had just been on. The water stops again; she squeals. "I got it, Connor! Look!" She looks happy, like we've just found a way out alive.

But then it hits her. "Oh. Shit."

The water is at my neck, now, and I swim up with it. "What are we going to do?"

She doesn't reply. She just flicks some water away from her, with her fingers, like this will save the both of us. "I don't know. What do you _want_ to do? Flip a coin?"

"There's no coins here," I remind her in a light tone. Try to brighten the mood. Even a little.

Cheyenne shuts her eyes, and I can see that she's crying. Cheyenne. Crying. "I'll stay back and hold this down. You go, Connor. You deserve to survive."

I give her a look.

Am I going to let her do this? Am I going to let her sacrifice herself for me, while my girlfriend and all of District Three are back home watching it? Am I going to be known as the bad guy, and let a girl who actually has a chance at winning this thing die, for my selfish reason of just wanting to get home? I can't do that. I know I can't do that. Everyone knows I can't do that.

And I know I don't deserve to survive, anyways.

"No," I say, before I allow myself to hesitate. "Cheyenne, you go. Before the water floods the tunnel." She looks at me, her eyes full of tears, but I give her a push. "I said to _go_. For God's sake, if you don't leave then we're both going to die, all right?" She continues to simply look. "Fuck, if you don't go—"

She shakes her head. "Okay, Connor. I'm going. She hugs me, sniffs into my shoulder, and mumbles a thank you. "I'll win it for you. You don't know how brave this is –"

"Go."

Still shaking her head, Cheyenne swims to the tunnel not sprouting water. It's just reaching the rim of the exit way, and I lean hard on the certain spot on the wall so no water comes from it. I'm not giving myself time to regret this. This is for the best, I tell myself. This is for the best.

"Thank you," she says, before pulling herself up into the hole and crawling off into the dark, until I can't see her and the water is over my head, lifting up my blond hair. But I keep leaning on that one spot. I'm just glad Cheyenne will have a chance of getting out of here.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not glad I'm going to die in here, drown to death, sacrificing myself for my district partner. It looks noble, and everyone is probably looking at their TV screens right now sobbing harder than Cheyenne was. But does that matter, if I will never get to speak to those people again?

I hold my breath as long as I can. Hopefully it's long enough to get Cheyenne out of that tunnel and to safety, because if it isn't then all of this was for nothing.

But then again, I guess I'll never know if it was enough.

I can't stay under here any longer. I breathe out, but that lets water enter my mouth. I try to suck in some air, but there's none, and I get mouthful after mouthful of water, until I can't breathe at all and the water is consuming me and—

I drift away.


	30. Wormy

**A/N: Did I ever tell you guys how much I HATE public speaking?**

**Belchhhh.**

**But thank you to my friend****, Caspianna on fanfiction, who made an awesome picture for this fanfiction. You can see it at my profile, it's set as my avatar. You can't exactly see the entire thing, but what you can is pretty darn cool, no?**

**But anywayyyys….**

**Trawny's POV (11)**

Violet and I are sitting on the ledge, leaning against the wall and chowing down on some dried fruits from the Cornucopia when something falls from the waterfall and into the little pond. Violet instantly stands up with a weird, long stick thing that we found in the Cornucopia, in an odd martial arts pose, and looks warily at me from the corner of her eye.

"What was that?" she asks, and I shrug and lean over the side.

"I can't see anything," I tell her, just as something moves closer and closer to me. I don't have enough time to react, and it surfaces from the water and hits me right in the head.

"Trawny, move," Violet orders, and I duck back, rubbing my head, not getting a good look at what hit me, but seeing the stick thing she had fly past me and, after a large _bang_ noise, sink into the water. I attempt to sit up, but get a dizzy spell, so I lay back down.

"What was it?"

"Shh."

Violet crouches on the balls of her feet and takes small steps to the pond. She emerges her head under the water, and then almost immediately comes back up, looking at me and letting out a long and dramatic sigh.

"It's just the girl from District One."

* * *

**Trafford's POV**** (2)**

I'm pretty sure we've had it easy the whole day. No tributes to run into, no natural disasters. And, knowing the Gamemakers, that can only mean one thing: Something must be coming.

After a long day of simply walking around we huddle back under that tree we found with the hollow inside, nibbling on some edible plants and waiting for the anthem to come on. The plants taste empty, although Marina was just exclaiming at how much flavour these have, compared to all the other plants we've found. Bambi looks over at me, like she tastes the same thing I am, but whatever. If Marina thinks this is flavour, let her be, right?

The anthem plays. Only two deaths. Connor and Keith.

So, who does that leave us with?

Tiffany, from District One. Me and Marina from Two. Just Cheyenne from Three. Of course, both of the Fours. Both of the fives, Odyss and Ebony, surprisingly outlasting one of the physically strongest in this competition. Nikole and Liam are both dead. Bridger, the tired one from Seven, still lasts, along with his district partner Ryli. Robert from Eight died, but Mara is still in here somewhere. Bambi from Nine is alive, obviously, and Robert is dead, also obviously. But what _is_ shocking is that both Victoria and Zed are still alive. I thought they'd be goners, for sure. And then Violet and Trawny, from Eleven and Krow from Twelve.

Well, I sure do have a lot of people to kill.

***

I take first watch. I stare at the treetops, and yet, no movement besides the rustling of the wind. The wave was really our only setback, and we haven't run into many tributes. The action that went on today had to be really something, because the events we experiences were actually quite boring.

After what feels like two hours I crawl under the opening from the tree and wake Marina, who rubs her eyes and sleepily moves into my place.

It feels like no time has passed when I'm awoken by a scream.

I sit up abruptly, hitting my head on the roof of the tree. How did it suddenly become so small?

Bambi, who has also woken, and I rush out from the tree to find Marina leaning against the tree trunk, her hands over her mouth, like the scream had come out involuntarily. She shakes her head at us, and when she turns to face me the moonlight that shines through some of the leaves makes her face seem extra pale.

"What?" Bambi asks, looking around. She has a sharp stick in the palm of her hand. "Did you see someone?"

Marina slowly shakes her head, her hands still covering her mouth.

"What _is_ it?" I say. "Talk!"

She doesn't speak. She just takes one hand from over her face and touches an area on her lower arm. Bambi crouches over, her eyes widen, and she says, "Shit."

And I'm not quite sure how to react when I see a long, squiggly line under Marina's skin, slithering bit by bit up her arm.

* * *

**Ebony's POV (5)**

Why am I staying with Odyss and Ryli?

Well, I don't know. I'm good with a bow and arrow. Okay. And I'm fast. All right. And I _must_ have sponsors out there, just _waiting_ for an opportunity to sponsor me, the innocent thirteen-year-old who has excellent aim, and who wants to get back home to her twin brother. Obviously, the pros of my approach outweigh the cons.

I might be able to survive on my own, but that won't last too long. If I _do_ run into the careers, and don't have my bow and arrow handy, I'll be done for. However, with Odyss and Ryli, I stand more of a chance at getting further in these games—if you can call _this_ a _game_—and getting home to my brother.

And Odyss saved me from the careers, back when I was searching for a good stick and rock for a bow and arrow. I owe him one.

But, I mean, you can't really owe someone in these games. That'll cost you your life.

We're all huddled on a wider strip of sand we found by the beach when the anthem plays. Connor and Keith died—and I'm proud to learn I've outlasted at least one of the careers in this competition.

The sand we're sitting on is kind of gross. It's all wet and gooey and an unnatural grey color, but it's better than the jungle ground, so I'm making the best of it.

"How are your families back home?" Odyss asks me and Ryli, after the anthem plays. I suppose I'll be taking the first watch tonight, because I'm not tired at all.

"I have sisters," Ryli says, and Odyss interrupts her there to say, "Me too!" And then they're both in a deep discussion about the importance of their siblings. I think about cutting in and saying how I have a brother, but I doubt they would care much, so I look at the sky. There's no stars. At all. Just blackness and a big round moon hanging above us, the only source of light. If I get high up enough on the cliff I can see the reflection of it in the calm water.

"My sister's my life," I hear Odyss telling Ryli. I've climbed pretty high on these ledges, and yet they don't seem to notice. Then Ryli says, "Mine are really the sweetest things. They're just like—"

Their voices tune out from my head when I see something, in the distance, jumping high above the water. It seems big at first, but then it nears us, and I see it clearer and see it's actually small. A bunch of little things, molding together to _look_ bigger. Jumping above the water. Odyss and Ryli are oblivious; lying on the sand and talking about their families.

"Guys," I say. They don't hear me, so I say it louder. "GUYS."

Odyss looks up at me. "What?"

"I don't know what they are but—" I point. "—there's something coming."

It's too late for much of a warning, though, because by now they're close enough for me to see they're fish. And there are a lot of them.

And, I can't say for sure that they look hungry, but it's not like the Gamemakers would send over a swarm of nice, jumping goldfish for us to meet, now would they?

* * *

**Trafford's POV **

Marina is looking away. "Just do it already."

I hold the sharpened rock in one hand, the piece of fabric and cleaned rock in the other. None of us have that much knowledge in medical stuff, but I know quite enough that if we don't get whatever is crawling out of her arm out, it's going to reach some important part of her body.

The thing under her skin is moving up to her elbow, and if I don't do this quick, something is going to go seriously wrong. My hand is shaking. This is my district partner. I need to do this properly, and hopefully painlessly.

Pain is inevitable, though.

"Ready?" I ask, and look up at the sky. Sponsors. Sponsors would be nice right about now. But nothing. With our luck, the mentors probably already hit the hay, thinking we would be just peachy until the morning.

"Trafford, I said _just do it_."

So I stab the rock into her skin, directly above the worm thing, and her scream is muffled by a branch she's biting on, while Bambi holds her hand, her face almost as pale as Marina's. I still don't know what I'm doing, I just know I have to work swiftly, before it moves to an entirely different place in her body and this pain here is for nothing. I carve a box in her skin deep as I can, around the thing, pretending that this isn't an arm, and blood comes oozing out of the edges. The blood seems sickening, knowing that the person I'm stabbing is my own ally.

And then, when I think I'm about to vomit up all those edible plants, I dig the rock deeper and take off the skin on top. The muffled screams are unbearable. I just want this to be over with. But I continue to carve past the blood until I see it, and it makes me want to vomit more. How did this get into her arm? How is it one piece? How didn't I hit it with the rock by now? And what the hell kind of evil ways to die do the Gamemakers think of, sitting peacefully at the Capitol in their little lair?

I know I can't use the rock to get this thing out, so I reach in with my own hand and pick up the fully-intact, as-long-as-both-of-my-index-fingers-put-together green worm, and toss it to the ground. Somehow I manage to stomp on it with one foot while sticking the big rock into the wound in Marina's arm, right below the inside of her elbow, and wrap the fabric around it, securing it in place. It must be painful, because tears are running down her cheeks and she can't seem to stop crying out in pain.

But the rock has to stay there, I know. At least until the bleeding stops, which may be a while, because otherwise she'll bleed to death.

Actually, she may bleed to death anyways.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" Bambi is practically yelling, looking at the crushed green worm on the ground. I stomp on it some more, and wipe my bloody hand off on my pant legs.

"Are you honestly asking me that?" I ask, just as a silver parachute comes down from the sky and lands by my feet.

I don't wait. I rip the package open and see just what I wanted to see: a needle, some kind of medical thread, and what looks to be a large bandage.

Finally.


	31. Coward

**A/N: Just realized. We're going to hit 200 reviews before the story ends. You guys really roooock.**

**Also, for the people who asked, the picture thing-a-ma-bobber for this fanfiction is supposed to be Katniss, howevvvver, you can imagine the girl in it to be whoever you like.**

**Please review? (:**

**Ebony's POV (5)**

The first fish jumps onto land before Odyss and Ryli can climb up the cliff to where I am. It doesn't have legs or anything, but it manages to get across the sand to Odyss and clamp down on his arm faster than he can walk. Another one gets to the sand and bites on his other arm, while Ryli attempts to pull them all off of him. It doesn't work, though, because they're attacking her now, too.

I take out the makeshift bow and arrow from the side of my pants. I only got the chance to make five arrows, so I better make them count.

The first hit is a miss, passing by Odyss's own hand by just a bit. I hesitate with the next one, aiming carefully, but the bow has an awkward feel in my hand and is slightly crooked. With this second arrow I snap two of the fish off Ryli, like a shish kabob, and that gives her enough time to take Odyss by the hand and drag him down the wet sand.

This only lasts a minute, though, because more fish jump onto them, biting their skin, while they try to make it to the cliff, moving inches at a time. I use up the other three of my arrows, getting at least three fish with each one, but there's still at least ten of the colourful animals snapping their jaws at my allies' skin, and so I start using rocks with my bow. This makes the progress much slower—the rocks I find are too small to hit more than one fish at a time. I need some other technique here.

The javelins Ryli made are on the beach, but maybe if I could get to them—

Am I about to risk my life, for these two people that I barely know? For these two people that I will never see again, if I _don't_ save them? I'll lose sponsors. I'll be hated among the Capitol audience, for standing by and only trying a little bit.

From the corner of my eye, I can see the javelins—

And so I jump down from the cliff, my bow in one hand and a fistful of sharp rocks in the other, and break into a run.

* * *

**Victoria's POV (10)**

Zed is still hot, especially with the whole ruffed-up-from-the-wilderness look. But he's not as hot as he was during training, because now he's bossing me all over the place. Victoria, do this. Victoria, do that. Victoria, starting a fire is the worst idea you could come up with. Do you contribute _nothing_ to this alliance? Victoria, we can't take a nap in the middle of the jungle in the middle of the day—we're going to get killed.

But I guess I do owe him something in return for saving my life and whatever, so I go along with everything he says, partially due to the kind-of debt I owe him and mainly due to how attractive he is.

I still can't walk on my right ankle so I have to lean on Zed a little when we move, which, to be frank here, I don't mind at all. He seems to, though, because he rolls his eyes a lot when I tell him just how much it hurts to walk on my ankle.

We're making our way through the jungle when Zed suddenly stops. "Do you hear that?" he asks.

"Hear what?" I listen, but all I hear is a few leaves rustling. Nothing major, probably.

"Shh," he mutters, clapping his hand over my mouth. It's dark, so I can't really see much besides big tree trunks and other stuff you'd normally see in the jungle, and the only sound is what I heard before. A few leaves rustling. Really, is there a big deal about that?

"Can you run?" he questions urgently, quietly, and I shake my head since his hand is still over my mouth. He swears before hoisting me onto his back and breaking into a run. It's anything but smooth. He stumbles every few seconds and I'm afraid I'm going to fall off his back, so I hang on tighter to his neck and push my heels into his stomach. As we're doing this, the sound of leaves moving gets louder and louder, and then something hits me, hard.

It takes me a minute to realize that what hit me is a person.

And that that person is Ariel.

* * *

**Ebony's POV**

I run to the javelins with everything I have. Most of the fish are too preoccupied with Odyss and Ryli, but I'm not sure how long that'll last, so I make my legs move faster and faster.

There are three javelins, each with a sharp end. They're all taller than I am, and I hesitate with one in my hand. The bow and arrow is much smaller than this. Easier for a thirteen-year-old to handle, that's for sure. But I tuck the other two under my arm and make a run for Odyss and Ryli anyways, still not sure what I'm gonna do when I get to them.

A fish lunges at me; I can see its teeth bared at me right before it snaps onto my ear. I scream in pain while reaching up to pull it off of my ear, and when I do I see it has a bit of my skin in between its teeth. I pierce it with the javelin in time to kill another one right before it hits me. They're fast, but maybe I can be faster.

"Give me one of those, quick," Odyss says, and I kill three of the fish on his arm. There are two hanging and biting on tight to my ankles, but I ignore them and work on one of his legs. This gives him enough time to get up, grab one javelin from under my arm, and start killing off the fish himself. We help Ryli, still being attacked ourselves, but the javelins make it easier to pick the fish off, even if I _can_ see the blood soaking through my pants from those two fish, and even if the side of my head where a bit of my ear is missing is pounding in pain.

Ryli stands up, and I don't wait. I race for the cliff, only hoping that my two allies are behind me. I begin to climb, dropping the javelin completely so I can use both hands to pull myself up the ledges and to the top and—

I slip, the small ledge I'm hanging on to breaks off, and I slip backwards onto Odyss, but, luckily, don't fall off. Odyss is gripping the cliff with his head down, and I, as fast as I can, use his shoulders to push back up and onto another ledge, and then continue pulling myself up. We aren't safe until we get to the top.

And even when, if, we do, I'm wondering what is going to happen to my ear.

* * *

**Zed's POV**

We're taken down by Ariel, but she starts beating up Victoria first. I'm suspecting this is because she thought Alexander had already killed her or whatever yesterday during the 'bloodbath'. Ariel takes a rock and begins stabbing Victoria with it, and I know she's a lost cause, and so I try to crawl away, but bump into Alexander's legs. He looks at me and yawns. "I'll make it fast, because I just want to go to sleep. You wouldn't believe the day I had."

I can see he has a pretty sharp rock in his hand, too, and my heart races. I'm about to die.

He lunges for me, but I roll, and he does a face plant with the soil. He looks at me with his teeth showing, usually bright white, but now there's black dirt in every crack. Alexander lunges again, and I roll again, and this time off my knees and onto the balls of my feet. I could try running, but he's probably faster. And so, taking another look at Victoria and Ariel, Ariel too distracted to even notice me because she's killing my ally, I kick Alexander as hard as I can in the head, before he can get up. Saving Victoria, sadly, will be impossible. Saving myself may not be.

His hand wraps around my ankle, and I fall onto my back. With the foot he's not holding, I bring it up for momentum, and then down, so my heel collides with the top of his head. I try to rip my foot free, but he has a pretty good grip on it as he makes his way towards me, spitting out dirt. So I kick him at the top of the head again, and this time he falls onto his stomach and faults enough so I can get my foot out from his hand.

He swears, but I push my body to the side and get on my feet, picking up a stick bigger than my leg and hitting Alexander with it on the back of the head, various times. I'm not sure how much damage I've done, but he doesn't move from his place on the ground, face in the dirt. Although, his back _is _rising up and down with breaths. He's not dead. Unconscious, maybe, but not dead.

This is my chance to escape. I have to take it. I look over at Victoria and Ariel. Victoria's head turns so her eyes are pointed directly at me. She looks angry. Angry for what? That I couldn't save her? What did she expect me to do, really? There was two of them, two of us, we're lucky even one of us got out alive.

The cannon goes, but her eyes are still on me, her face arranged in an angry expression, those pupils boring into mine. I can't stay here much longer and survive. I have to go.

Even if the Capitol does hate me by now.

* * *

**Victoria's POV**

The pain is worse than when Alexander hurt me. The rock cuts into me and blood is flowing out, puddles. I'm trying to push Ariel off, but I know it's useless. What's the point? Even if I _do_ push her off, I can't run. But Zed is handling Alexander, I think, so maybe when he's done with him—

I catch Zed's eye as Ariel laughs in my face, the rock cutting through my flesh like it's paper. He's standing above Alexander's unconscious form, a big and heavy-looking branch dangling in one of his hands. He makes eye contact with me, and I can see he feels sorry for me. Like he pities me. I stare at him as he stands there. He doesn't move towards me to help. He doesn't do anything for me. Just stands there and stares.

Well, I think, before everything fades away, I'm going to die. But because of you standing there and _watching_ and _letting _this happen, so are you.

* * *

**Bridger's POV**

It's been a boring day. I wouldn't mind it, if I was back home in District Seven or something, but out here it's not only boring, but suspenseful. What are the Gamemakers planning for me? I'm sure I'll find out soon enough, but in the mean time, I'd like to find that girl from District One who pushed me into that cactus. Who made my hand go all numb and immobile, my good hand, too, and now I have to use a weapon with my less coordinated one.

Where could she have gone? She ran into the jungle, and I ran after her, following her footsteps until they disappeared. And then I walked some more, and the only thing I saw was trees. And trees. And more fucking trees. You'd think the Gamemakers would be pretty creative, but apparently all they could really think of putting in the arena was a desert, a poisonous cactus, and leaves and branches.

I use the sharp root I have to write a note in the sand, addressed to the Gamemakers after the anthem plays that night, mostly because I'm bored. It informs them, basically, of just a recap of what I said in my interview, and then how I'm onto their plans. Which I will be. Soon enough.

After all, they aren't that hard to follow.


	32. Allies

**A/N: The nex****t chapter will be a POV from the Capitol. Well, maybe more than one POV. The only other time I'll probably do it like that will be the interviews.**

**Review? =)**

**Krow's POV**

We got out of the cave after searching the walls for an escape route. Mara and I had given up on trying getting through the rocks that had fallen to Cheyenne and Connor after we heard two cannons go off. I don't want to lose hope for them, but it's doubtful either survived.

Mara found a small hole at the bottom of the pond, full of water, yes, but it led back out and onto the beach. We then climbed up the cliff and back into the jungle, because most likely someone was still down there, camping out. It wasn't our territory anymore.

"They're gone," Mara sniffs as we sit down by some trees. The anthem must have played while we were in that cave, and we missed the faces lighting up the sky. We missed the only, legal, mark of respect they would give to the innocent victims of District Three. As we're sitting there, another cannon goes off. Neither of us seems affected. We just sit.

Mara is crying into her knees, now. If she was my sister, I would comfort her, and put my arm around her, and tell her it'll all be all right. But, first of all, she _isn't_ my sister. And, second of all, everything _isn't_ going to be all right. Why? Because things never end well in the Hunger Games. And if we pretended they did, we'd be full of false hope.

"This is my fault," I hear Mara mutter to herself.

"No it isn't," I tell her, because at least that is the truth. "It's not your fault. This is the Gamemakers' faults. You think those rocks fell by accident? You think we got lured into that cave by coincidence?"

"But I was the one," she hiccups and wipes her nose on the edge of her shirt. "I was the one who found that cave. Maybe we could've made it up the cliff in time. Or maybe there was some other escape route we overlooked. We could _all _still be alive now, Cheyenne and Connor, if it wasn't for me."

"Well, maybe we could be," I say. "But three out of four of us would have to die in the end, wouldn't we?"

She shrugs and wipes her nose some more. I don't know what Mara is to me now. I don't know if we're friends, or if we're just simply allies. I just know she was my first ally in these games, and I can't go back on that. So we sit in silence, trees surrounding us and a vast ocean spread out before us, and I curl my arms around my legs in a comfortable position. I'm here because of a crush I had on a girl. That's it. I'm going to die because I've liked Shrike for years, and stupidly volunteered for her little brother. What a mistake. She never said thank you, or goodbye, and neither did her parents or brother or—

"What's eating you, then?" Mara questions. I break out of my thoughts of regret to look back at her red-rimmed eyes.

Well, this would be a nice way to tell Shrike how I've felt for the past few years. And I just bet the Capitol will love it.

So I tell Mara. Because, even though this isn't something I'd normally do, go around and tell the world how I feel, it may be my last chance to do so. And this will be sure to get the Gamemakers satisfied for the night, maybe get them to leave Mara and me alone and not try to kill us again.

When I finish with, "She never said thank you," Mara blinks at me, and she starts crying again, tossing the blonde hair out of her face.

Alarmed, I say, "Did I say something?"

She shakes her head. "That's just so sad. And I thought_ my_ story was horrible? I'm leaving behind a sister, who isn't even that fond of me. You have three little sisters and a mother you have to take care of. And you abandoned them to sacrifice yourself for someone you love, and that person doesn't even realize it!"

I blink. The way she puts it makes it sound really horrible. The way she puts it makes it sound like I'm _going_ to die, when that hasn't even happened yet. And the way she puts it suddenly makes me angry. Angry at Shrike and her family, for never even saying goodbye. Angry at the Gamemakers, who are making us take part in these games in the first place. The power they have is unmistakable, now, and I guess that's what they wanted.

Now I understand why Bridger said what he did during the interviews.

* * *

**Tiffany's POV**

I wake up to a spear at my throat and hazel eyes staring me down. I have a buildup of saliva in my mouth, but I'm afraid if I swallow the spear might pierce me. So I stay perfectly still, although the uneven rock pushing against my back is more than uncomfortable.

"Violet—"

"Not now, Trawny," Violet says, and sighs. She turns to me. "Hello, Tiffany."

"Hi," I say. I've always had a sort of respect for Violet, because of how she punched Ariel in the nose. However, that respect only goes so deep. And pointing a spear at my throat has kind of ruined it for her. "Where am I?"

Violet shrugs. "I dunno for sure. You fell down that waterfall"—she points up, to water falling down the cavern wall and into the pond to my right—"and ended up here. Where we already were. So, how do you like it down here?"

"Well," I start. "It's a bit uncomfortable. Kind of sharp, you know? But enough about me, how long have you two been down here?"

"Violet, I'm serious—"

"Trawny!" she says, turning her head to look at the little chubby ginger, who is crouched down, his head drenched from dunking the top of his head in the water. "Not now, all right? I'm talking with Tiffany."

You'd think the way she said _I'm talking with Tiffany_ we were talking about what we're going to wear tomorrow, or something like that. Even _I'm_ almost fooled by the tone, in fact, but then I remember the sharp spear point that's pointed and ready to pierce through my throat.

"Two nights, now," she answers my question. "Gets hard on the back after a while." She must see me looking at the spear, because she says, "I got it before we fell down here. It came with me." I just raise my eyebrows. There's nothing down here but rocks, so the handle of the spear would have to come from above. Did they fall down, too? Or did they deliberately jump?

I'm about to ask her all of these questions when my back is suddenly soaked with water. Violet lifts up her feet and looks over the ledge at the pond, and more water splashes over the rocky sides and onto us. I hear Trawny say, "I tried to tell you!" but don't dare turn my head to see what he's doing, because of the spear and all.

"Shit." Violet removes the spear from my neck and dives head-first into the pond, the water slowly rising. I stand up. It's up to my knees, now, and Trawny's looking around the water desperately for Violet—who emerges five moments later with a backpack on, one in her hand, and some karate stick thing tucked into her pants. She tosses the extra backpack to Trawny, who catches it, and then stands up beside him, across from me, while the water continues to rise.

"What's going on?" I ask. "Where did you get those backpacks from?" And then it hits me. "Wait a minute. That's the Cornucopia, isn't it? Down under there? You two found it!"

"I don't know what's going on," Violet says, ignoring my second question. The water rises to my shoulders, and I have to tread to stay afloat. Violet goes on, "I should've killed you when I had the chance—"

"Hey, hey, hey." I smile with my teeth, which are probably like, yellow by now, but oh well. "We're allies now."

The District Elevens stare at me like I just grew another head. And an ugly head, at that. "We're anything but allies, Tiffany," Violet tells me, one hand on that cane or whatever it is. We're all treading water, now, as the waterfall to my right and their left spills more and more into the cavern, and so we rise towards the sky. Trawny looks like he's having troubles—Violet holds him up by one of the straps on his backpack.

"If we aren't allies," I say, and I can see my mentor back at the Capitol, praising me for this creative manipulation, "then I'm going to the careers and telling them you found the Cornucopia, and that I know where it is."

"They'll kill you," she grunts, heaving Trawny up to the surface.

"Maybe. But they'll kill you first. You know you don't stand a chance against Ariel or Alexander or Trafford or Bambi or Marina if they have a blade in their hand, and you're forced to protect the little ginger here."

She knows I'm right. The recognition in her face says it all. "If I kill you," she says. "They won't know. Will they?"

My heart's racing, but I don't let it show. "So kill me, Violet. Go ahead."

Before I know what's happening, she's lunging through the water for me, with that stick in her hand. It rises up, above me, but before it can strike I dive down, under the water, and the friction slows it down, makes it bounce carelessly off my left shoulder. I surface, still smiling, and point behind Violet at the spikes of red hair above the water. "He's drowning."

She jumps back, saves Trawny, and glares right at me. I think she's about to attack again, but the little rascal goes, "Wait. Violet. Maybe we should be allies with her."

She mutters, "Why?"

"If we run into the careers, we'll have more of a chance." He whispers something to her, but her narrowed eyes stay on me.

Finally, she sighs. "Fine."

* * *

**Alexander's POV**

Ariel is hot and all, but that's before you actually meet her. She's actually pretty psychotic. Especially if you wake up to her slapping you, screaming in your face that you let the weakling from District Ten get away, you idiot, why are you even _in_ the career pack if you can't handle yourself?

Pointing out that our 'career pack' isn't really a pack any more would be useless, so I follow her to the desert that morning. I was unconscious for the entire night, apparently; I don't even remember getting knocked out by that guy from Ten.

"We got some water last night," Ariel tells me, and throws me over a canteen. I catch it, and as the first drops slide down my throat, I realize just how thirsty I actually was. "Don't drink all of it, dumbass. Save some for later, at least. God."

Ariel turns away and begins to walk across the sand, tossing me her canteen. She made a kill yesterday, but even I know that that's not enough to keep her satisfied. "Carry it for me, will you?"

She phrases it as a question, but we both know it's not.

Rolling my eyes, I follow. But not before unscrewing the cap off the canteen and chugging down the remainder of her water.


	33. The Capitol

**A/N: We reached 200+ reviews! Thanks guys!**

**Pleeeease keep reviewing? (:**

**Oh, and in those reviews, could you possibly tell me**** who you want to win the games? And since YOU submitted the characters, please also tell me who you think the runner-up (I guess there is no real runner-up, but you get my drift) should be?**

**I want to get your guys' opinions.**

**I would set up a poll on my profile and all, but I was planning on doing that when there's less tributes.**

**Thanks : )**

**Poppy Hawk's POV**

Being the first female head Gamemaker isn't easy. Especially when your first year of being head Gamemaker is the Quarter Quell. Do you know how long it took me to figure out the twist would be to hide the Cornucopia? I considered everything from only sending in twelve tributes, to not giving them any weapons _at all_—but finally realized the Capitol might hate that, less bloodshed and all, so I cancelled both ideas out.

I stare at the twenty-four screens in front of me, twisting around in my spinny chair. A number of them are black, symbolizing the dead ones. Each of the others is tracking a tribute. The Fours, the strong ones, are roaming around the desert. The separated career pack is washing some plants in a puddle of water. Almost everything has been calm since Connor and Cheyenne entered the trap we set up; the one where you have to choose somebody to drown to death.

There's a knock at the door, and I twirl around in my comfortable leathery chair to face President Lyra. She's the first female president of Panem, and you'd think that might give us something in common. Girl power or whatever. But it doesn't. She despises me like she despised my father, and as she leans against the door way, arms across her chest, I feel intimidated.

"Yes, President Lyra?" I ask.

She glares. "There hasn't been action for hours. It's noon, and nobody has died today. I'm starting to think this hidden Cornucopia isn't such a great idea, Hawk—"

"You'll see," I say to her. "I got Violet and Tiffany and Trawny out of the cavern—Violet should do some damage with that martial arts stick we put in there just for her, and—"

"Enough talk. I want action. So does the Capitol. Or else." She pauses—for dramatic effect, I presume. "Somebody will have to… _replace_ you as head Gamemaker. Are we clear?"

I nod. What else am I gonna do? She's the president.

President Lyra leaves, and I sigh and put my head in my hands. I thought being head Gamemaker meant you got to design the arena. Which I did. Setting out the traps, some of which haven't even been revealed yet, but will be soon. I didn't think you would have to decide certain people's deaths. When that Connor guy died, I cried a little. He sacrificed himself.

And I don't know _how_ I'm supposed to kill somebody like Krow, who voluntarily came into these games for a girl he loved. Or even someone like Ebony. She looks so innocent. I stare at the two of their screens. Krow is walking with Mara, in the jungle. Odyss is helping Ebony patch up her ear, which was bitten off by the rabid fish.

But I need to think about myself. My father was killed because a few years ago when he refused to kill any tributes at all, which I never really understood up until now. I'll have the same fate if I don't do something.

And that's when I remember how Alexander was hitting on that Cheyenne girl, during training, according to some of the hidden cameras around the training place. My gaze goes from her screen, to his. They aren't that far apart…

So I page my assistant, Hayleigh, who enters the planning room within seconds. "Tell the other Gamemakers," I say, "that I want a sandstorm going east at Ariel and Alexander in the desert, and a stampede going west at Cheyenne. She's in the jungle. I need them to meet, somehow." Hayleigh, who never really talks, just nods and leaves the room to tell the other Gamemakers what to set up. How I want my tributes killed, really.

I know President Lyra says the whole, inspiring speech about how _we_ have the power, and if we didn't the districts would rebel and the world would be chaos and all, but sometimes I wonder. Are they the real bad guys here, like everyone portrays them as? Or are we?

* * *

**Ledger Frietzman's POV**

I haven't slept since Keith was killed. Keith was clearly one of the strongest in this competition, _clearly_, and those little rats from District Four went ahead and got him killed. My Keith. My victor. Gone. The other mentors who are sitting around me, also watching the only screen that's still on in our little room, haven't spoken to me since Keith's death. They're cheering for Tiffany, now, who made allies with the twerps from Eleven.

I'd never cheer for her. What has _she_ worked for? Nothing. Keith worked his whole life, and it ended with a poisonous cactus. I'm cheering for that Bridger guy from Seven to kill her off.

"Look how clever our girl is," one of the mentors whose name I can't remember says. I've never really spoken to them, and learning names would be irrelevant. "Finding the Cornucopia."

"Technically," I snap. "She didn't find it. The Elevens found it."

"Shush," the other female mentor says. "You're just angry that Keith died before Tiffany, and that that Bambi girl isn't doing so badly. Just because you killed her sister, Ledger—"

I stand up abruptly in the leather chair, slamming my fist down on the control panel, which has the buttons for the sponsors. "I don't have to listen to the bull you two have been giving me anymore. I'm going to take a nap, and when you two grow up and decide you would like to act your age, I'll come back. As of now, I have no business here." I walk away to my room down the hall in a fury, kicking the door shut with my heel. Then I throw off my shoes, an awful smell arising, but I ignore that and turn on the television across from the bed.

This is what the rest of Panem is seeing right now. The girl from Nine, Bambi, is featured, along with the tributes from Two. They all look weak and pale compared to the confidence Keith had—in fact, he reminded me of myself, which is probably why I'm so angry about his death. How could someone like me—a former victor—_die?_

I still remember my times in the games, ten or so years ago. I killed twenty of the twenty-three other tributes, and I like to think I was creative in doing it. I tossed one guy in a pit of lava, and killed one girl for the Capitol's amusement; slowly. It may sound horrible on paper, but it was a strategy. Why would the Gamemakers kill off one of the most vicious murderers in the games?

But my time is over now.

Now, I train the future victors of these games. Train them to survive. To win these games.

To kill.

* * *

**Nina Jakeson's POV**

I slouch back in my chair and slide the tape that holds all our footage from the past two days into the computer. As it loads, I click my pen anxiously. I need to get this done in less than an hour.

"Can you _not?_" Kelly barks from behind me. I stop clicking my pen, rolling my eyes and snapping the chewing the gum I have in my mouth so much it sounds like fireworks, just to really piss him off. Kelly is my producer, and nobody's exactly fond of him here in the studio. Actually, nobody is even fond enough of him to ask what his first name is. So we call him by his last name. Kelly.

My face loads on the five-foot screen in front of the two of us, and the six smaller ones surrounding it. At least I look decent—that bright red hair dye did wonders. It's too bad the footage is complete shit.

I press the play button, and the TV me says, "I'm here with Jullien Lauper." The camera pans out, to show that I'm sitting in a beanbag awkwardly with my legs crossed, and the teacher I interviewed earlier next to me. She has wild hair and eyes that don't focus, although I've been told she has twenty-twenty vision. "She's a teacher, and she has a strong opinion on some of the tributes, don't you, Jullien?"

She nods and pushes her hair over a shoulder. I was nervous in that moment, I remember. I kept looking at the books on the shelf behind her. "They're flukes."

I watch my face pale. We got the call to go to that school, because apparently there was a teacher that needed to get on television about something she had to say. I hadn't thought it would be this kind of something-to-say.

"Do you people know what you're doing?" she demands at me, and I take the microphone away from her, shift uncomfortably. "Look at this classroom. Its work is full of children's work. What if it was _your_ child, sentenced to death?"

I shake my head at the camera, now, and draw a slicing motion across my neck, and the scene cuts suddenly to a grassy green setting. I have on a light sweater and am standing beside a man two feet taller than me, a neck larger than my thigh. "So, Walkter. Who do you think has a chance at the Hunger Games this year?"

He grabs the microphone right from my hands, and I give a panicked look at the camera, but maintain my composure. He's practically screaming into the mic. "The careers. You think those weaklings have a chance? Why should they get the honour of winning, over someone who wants it? Answer me that, will you? Screw the little girls and boys and the weak ones—the strong will survive! Power to the Fours!"

The camera cuts again, this time I'm standing beside a softer looking woman, with loose and bouncy curls. She says, "I have hope for Mara and Krow. I will definitely be looking to sponsor them. Possibly Cheyenne, as well. They all seem so sweet, don't they, dear?"

Kelly motions for me to fast forward, and so I do, through a person that says they're going to sponsor Bridger from Seven, another that says they would put their life savings into Odyss and Ebony and Ryli, an entire family of twenty that is routing for Bambi, Marina and Trafford, and a couple that sent Tiffany a roll of bread or something like that. I don't really listen to these pathetic people when interviewing them or anything, but the job itself makes the ends meet for me.

Kelly rips the remote from my hand just as an angry protestor lunges at the camera, his face frozen in a moment where his teeth are barred and hands outstretched in claws. I turn away from the seven screens in front of me.

"This is all you could find," he says, "within the span of forty-eight hours?"

"No, there's more. You just stopped it too soon." I tell him.

"It's all the same as the other years, Nina!" He ejects the tape and throws it across the room, where it flings into the wall and breaks into pieces. "People supporting the small ones out of pity. The weak ones out of pity. But the majority loving the careers, as always. And that teacher—"

I sigh. "The Peacekeepers came. She won't be sharing her opinion anymore."

He nods. "Good, good. But the point is, I want _crazy_. I want effing unique. I don't want the same stuff of people supporting the careers. This is my first year as producer, Nina, and that tape"—he points to the broken tape across the room, and I pop my gum and roll my eyes—"is not going to screw everything up for me. Now find some more footage—"

"We have an _hour_ to put this together, Kelly. I don't know how it's possible for me to go out and film, find some crappy _unique_ guy, and then put it all together. In an _hour._"

Kelly just blinks at me, like everything I just said went through one ear and out the other. Which it probably did. And it makes me want to punch him in the face. "Well, you're going to have to." He smirks and starts making his way out of the room. "Your job depends on it."

***

I take polls. What else am I _supposed_ to do? What's really expected of me? That I'm going to find something _interesting_ and _new_ about the Hunger Games? This is doubtful. The Capitol lusts bloodshed, and that's that.

Forty percent of people believe one of the District Fours will win. Fifteen think Bambi, Marina or Trafford will be the new victors. Nothing new, careers on top. But District Five, the district with that little girl Ebony and that tall guy Odyss, and District Eleven, Violet and Trawny, are both tied with ten percent of the votes. Next comes the Krow/Mara/Cheyenne alliance, recently broken up but has eight percent locked in for them. Tiffany and Bridger and Ryli are all tied in results with five percent each. Zed is in last place with just four.

I sigh as I stare at these results. Same old, same old.

I'm going to get fired.

* * *

**Shrike's POV**

When I watch that Krow guy who volunteered for my brother tell that Mara girl he's liked me for practically all my life, and her reply of how horrible it was for nobody from my entire family to say goodbye, I feel the tears pricking at my eyes. There's a pit in the bottom of my stomach that churns with his words, but when I look over at my parents and brothers, they seem unfazed. They aren't even really paying much attention to me, so I stand up from the couch and walk straight out the door. The street is empty, even in the richer parts of town. I remember in Krow's interview he had said something about sisters. About a mother. About a dead father. That's all I can remember, and the pit in my stomach churns more.

I walk to the square, where a lot of people are watching a smaller TV screen, where the obnoxious District Fours are running away from another twister. I ignore the TV and push my way through the crowd, a few people whispering as I pass. They must have seen Krow say those things, too. They must know I'm the girl who didn't even say thank you or goodbye.

In the front of all the people I see four heads. Three of which are little girls—only one seems old enough to be able to participate in the reapings, and a mother sitting next to them. I say, "Ms. Haliss?" which causes everyone in the square to stop breathing, go dead silent, and turn to look at me.

When her eyes set on me I can tell that she knows who I am. I'm the reason her son is in the games. If it wasn't for me, Krow would be here right now with his mother and sisters, safe and sound, while my own little brother was on that TV set. And, as I stand there awkwardly and play with a loose thread on my shirt, the look that she gives me reminds me what a horrible person I am.

I could stand here and give her a million excuses. I could tell this woman with the same straw-blond hair as Krow's that I had no idea he existed, and maybe if I did I wouldn't have let him do what he did. I could tell her that I was so caught up in the moment with my brother being safe, I didn't even think of saying goodbye. Or thank you, terribly enough.

But, instead, I tell her the truth.

"I'm sorry."


	34. Heartless?

**A/N: On Friday, I'****m going on a two-and-a-half week vacation. It's a cruise, so if I were to get internet access it may be a tad expensive. Like, twenty-dollars-a-minute expensive.**

**But I'll have my laptop with me, so most likely I'll be writing on the plane there, at night, in the morning, by the pool, etc. etc. Sooo I may not be updating for two weeks or so, but I will be writing. **

**When I get back, there may be an overload of chapters or something.**

**But during the week I'll be trying to update as much as possible.**** (: **

**And thank you to the people who ****reviewed by PM (:**

**Onto the story!**

**Cheyenne's POV (3)**

I'm walking through the jungle the morning after Connor died when I hear it. The morning after my district partner sacrificed himself to save me. The morning after spending the night in a tree, crying myself to sleep. I'm sure my eyes are still rimmed red as a weird sound begins echoing through the trees, continuously. At first I think it's water or something like that. But then it gets louder. And I realize it sounds like footsteps—but loud footsteps—all mushed together to form—

A stampede.

I break into a run, even though I know it would be impossible to outrun whatever's behind me. There sounds like there are a lot of them.

I hear a noise that would normally come from an elephant, which makes my feet move faster and legs take bigger leaps across the jungle ground. I'm not going to let Connor die for me, and then, ten hours later, die because of some damn elephants chasing after me.

The sound of their feet crushing the earth reverberates in my ears louder and louder, although I'm getting faster and faster with each step. I'm panting, but I don't stop. I can't stop. I can't die.

Suddenly, sand is flying in my face, so roughly it pushes me back onto my butt. Shutting my eyes, I get back to my feet and push my way through; the stamped is getting nearer and nearer, and if I don't get far enough away from it all, I'm going to get trampled to death.

I fall forwards onto my hands and knees once my feet make the transition from dirt and tree roots to sand. Would the elephants come into the desert? I doubt it, so I stay with my head between my knees and my hands covering my ears, waiting for the sand to pass by. The elephant noises slowly come to a climax, the loudest they've been, but then quickly go down to a hush as they run in the opposite direction, probably because of the sandstorm.

But I stay down, my eyes shut and hands over my ears. I don't know how long the sandstorm is going to last, but moving through it might be more dangerous than just waiting it out.

It passes, eventually. I'm unsure about how much time has gone by—it's seemed like forever, but the sun is at its highest point in the sky. Somewhere around noon, probably. So I stand up, brush some sand off my pants, and am about to walk into the jungle—being in the desert at noon isn't the best idea—when I hear her voice, spitting out my name like it's venom in her mouth.

"Well, hello, Cheyenne. How are you doing on this wonderful day?"

* * *

**Bambi's POV (9)**

I can't get the image of that worm squirming through Marina's skin out of my head. Of Trafford pulling it out of her arm and stomping on it. Of him sewing her flesh together while I stare disgustedly at the remains of the worm thing, smushed a bunch of different colors on the ground.

I've had to vomit twice as we move through the jungle this morning, and for lunch all Marina let me have was a piece of an edible plant and a sip of water. My stomach churns every time I look at those stitches etched in her lower arm. I can't hold down anything, which isn't too good, because dehydration is probably getting to me.

"Hold your hand out like this," Marina tells me. Her palm is facing up, and with her other hand she's pushing her fingers down. She traces one of the lines on her palm. "If these don't turn pink or red or something it means you're dehydrated."

I do what she says, and the lines stay their normal color. No pink. No red.

"You're going to have to deal with it," Trafford says. "If Marina can get a worm carved out of her arm, then you can face a bit of dehydration. Once you stop vomiting, we'll give you more water. As of now, you obviously can't hold anything down. So we'll just avoid the desert and keep moving. Maybe we'll run into the Cornucopia."

Rolling my eyes, I step over a root. I'm not trying to sound conceited, but I'm kind of sure I'm better with a weapon than Trafford is. I'm pretty sure I'm kind of a better fighter than he is, too, so why did he get to make the decision that he's the leader of this alliance?

We all continue to walk, and I stare at Trafford's back. I could kill him. And if Marina comes at me, I could probably take her, too. I'd lose sponsors, maybe, sure, but it isn't like I need _too_ many. I have all three of our canteens of water. Finding edible plants won't be too hard—I've learned a lot from the District Twos…

I'm placing the exact spot in Trafford's back where it'd kill him if I stabbed him with the sharp stick in my hand, but I can see Marina from the corner of my eye, giving me one of the most menacing glares I've ever received in my life. It doesn't seem menacing at first—really, it's just a straight face at me, with her eyebrows slightly raised and lips sort of pursed. But her eyes bore into me. Like she can penetrate into my thoughts. Like she knows the exact reason I've been looking at Trafford's back this whole time.

So I look away and do that thing with the palm of my hand again, because showing that I'm intimidated would show weakness. And I don't show weakness.

Not in these games, anyways.

* * *

**Cheyenne's POV **

I rub sand from my eyes and look up at Ariel and Alexander. Ariel's long black hair is flowing behind her in the wind like a cape, and her hands are on her hips; she looks like an evil witch. Alexander is just staring at me. I can't tell what's going through his mind. But I can't die. Not now. That would make Connor's sacrifice useless. So I stand up straighter.

"I'm doing wonderfully," I tell Ariel, in answer to her question. I glance at what's in her hand. What _is_ that? A piece of a cactus? "What have you two been up to lately?"

"Well, mainly killing."

I swallow, and my eyes dart from Ariel to Alexander. Alexander isn't making eye contact, and I can't decide if that's good or bad—I really wish I had flirted with him now, back in the training facility. Maybe he'd take mercy. Maybe he'd let me go. Now, though—who knows?

Escape will be difficult. Threatening seems like an understatement if you're describing Ariel, even to me, and she looks faster than I probably am. The only hope I have would be to outsmart them.

But in a game that counts on your physical strength, I doubt any escape at all.

Those are my last thoughts before Ariel lunges, my head snaps back on the ground, hard, and everything goes black.

***

I wake up in the middle of the desert, every inch of me aching. Sand is swirling around me; I can't see further than five feet in front of me in each direction, and there's no sign of Ariel or Alexander. Wind rings in my ears and, looking at my hands and arms, I can see I'm severely burnt. How long have I been out here for? Why aren't I dead?

It's useless, but I say it anyways. "Hello? Anyone out there?"

Standing up, I brush sand off me. It burns so I just leave it. "Nobody?"

The rush of wind confirms my question.

I walk, which also burns, but I want to find some sort of shade. Any millimeter of exposed skin is now bright red, and so I tug my shirt over my head to prevent sun stroke or whatever.

What happened?

* * *

**Alexander's POV **

Yeah, so I let Cheyenne go. It's not like I'm _totally_ heartless or anything.

Ariel was about to finish her off with that piece of poisonous cactus she had managed to rip off, but I stopped her. Said I'd take Cheyenne out to the middle of the desert, where I'd _then_ stab her with the cactus to leave her to die a more painful death. After all, I _had_ made the mistake of flirting with her earlier in the games, and since Ariel and I now were an item, I thought I should go and finish off my past myself.

And what could she say? Sponsors came flying in after coming back from leaving Cheyenne to 'die'. What I can't decide is if this is because of me saying something about our District Four relationship, or because I made a move that could get me killed by not killing another—but either way we got stuff that eases our sunburns and a big slab of meat. Raw, but meat nonetheless. I've never seen someone get sent a piece of raw meat in these games, so I have to admit I'm feeling pretty special 'bout that.

And as for the Cheyenne thing—

Well, I'll deal with _that_ when the time comes.

* * *

**Bridger's POV**

So, I've given up on the District One girl. She's a waste of energy. A waste of oxygen and space for that matter, as well. I really have no idea why she's still alive. Well, probably her sponsors. But in the end, sponsors don't keep you alive. In the end it's how you play the game.

And I have to say, I think I've been playing it pretty damn well.

The Gamemakers hate me, I know, because it's been a close call with some lightning bolts out there in the desert. But, like I've said many times before, I'm one step ahead of them. Lightning bolts in the desert? I saw that coming from a while ago—not very original, if you ask for my opinion—and so I've constructed a few lightning rods made out of leaves and branches out in the middle of nowhere, so it'll be attracted to them and not to me. But needless to say, I don't step near those lightning rods.

No tributes have come my way since the incident with the District One chick. During the night I make a bed safe up in a tree, and sleep with my sharp stick on my chest and vines fastening me to the trunk. Sponsors have been keeping me alive, for the _most_ part—canteens full of water and rolls of bread; I even got a whole fish. I never knew so many people hated the Capitol as much as I do that they'd want to sponsor me. A person who disses the Gamemakers every chance he gets.

That afternoon, I lean my back on a tree trunk and chow down on some bread. I've had it pretty easy. I wonder what the Gamemakers are planning for tonight.

In between chews of the dough, I can hear a buzzing noise coming from above, in the treetops.

I don't even get the chance to look up before I'm bombarded with a plague of insects.


	35. Let's Dance

**A/N: Hope you're all still reading =)**

**&Sorry if the next two chapters aren't up to par. I wrote them at three in the morning, so I had a lot of editing to do.**

**I could've rewritten them and all but I want something published, so here ya guys go. (:**

**Violet's POV **

I can see them from up through the branches. Bambi, Marina and Trafford are all moving through the jungle in a little huddle, and Bambi stops to vomit as they pass the bottom of our tree. Trafford exchanges a look with Marina before the three of them walk off—and only once they're out of hearing distance do I release my hand from Tiffany's mouth and lean back.

She takes in a dramatic breath. "I was about to suffocate there."

I don't respond. I just look at Trawny, who's pretending not to notice me looking at him by flicking dirt off his shirt. His reasons for wanting to keep Tiffany are pretty simple: if we run into careers, she goes first and we have a chance at getting away. Especially now that I have a martial arts stick always tucked into the sides of my pants, and Trawny a kit full of medical gear—which he proved his skills with by patching up a cut on my arm I received when the water from the pit threw us out and into the jungle.

"Do you have a problem with me?" Tiffany asks suddenly, and I look away from Trawny's bright orange hair to her. I don't want to answer. But I have to.

"I normally don't have a problem with anyone," I tell her. "Until they have a problem with me."

Tiffany tilts her head, like she's considering this. "Touché."

* * *

**Odyss's POV**

Ebony's ear is better, I guess. And by better I mean it's stopped bleeding.

She's always in pain, and sometimes she lets it show, others she doesn't, but either way I can tell how much she's suffering. Ryli and I've patched it up to our best ability but neither of us is wonderful with the medical field, and we've established it as a lost hope to try and do much else. It seems that Ebony can hear with it, but not very well.

That's why she doesn't sit watch at night. She insists sometimes, but it would be a bad idea if we let her listen in the night for danger when she's nearly half-deaf. I wouldn't want my little sisters doing that, so she won't either.

Not that Ebony is like a little sister to me or anything. Like I said before, whatever happens in these games happens. And for me to win, both Ryli and Ebony must die. And I will win. For my family.

"Not many cannons have gone since the games started," Ryli says to us. We're all sitting in some cave we found under a cliff in the jungle—no way we're heading back to the beach—nibbling on a few big juicy-looking beetles we found outside under some rocks. They smell quite horrible, but food is food.

"What does that mean, then?" questions Ebony. "These beetles are really good, by the way."

Ryli shrugs. "It's not good. Our situation, I mean, not the beetles. The Capitol probably wants some bloodshed. And nobody's died since yesterday—"

A cannon fires.

We all go silent and look around, like it was one of us. But I can see both are still in one piece each, legs crossed and mouths full of insects. Which _are_ delicious, but I try and concentrate more on Ebony and Ryli for the time being. "Who do you think it was?" I ask.

"Hopefully one of the careers, but I'm not saying anything else." Ryli sits back, shoves a beetle in her mouth, and abruptly stands up from the ground. "I feel excited. Like drunken excited. Does anyone care to dance?"

* * *

**Bridger's POV**

It happens so quickly I don't know what's going on—not until I'm pinned to the ground, my only good hand being squashed underneath my back, and when I reach for my sharp tree root which is somewhere behind my head one of my fingers gets pierced with a blade.

I resist screaming out in pain and meet the eye of the bastard on top of me. Ariel. Her black hair is swinging on my face, and I should be able to push such a person off, but she got me in the middle of one of my naps. When my weapon was foolishly placed next to my numb hand, not my good one.

"Bridger." Her voice slurs, and I know Alexander must be lurking somewhere in the shadows. If I could get her off of me, _and_ reach my weapon, somehow, he would have me back down in a second. But still, if she thinks I'm going to go down quietly and without a fight—

"Ariel Peffer." The only reason I say her last name as well as her first is because the _p_ sound makes a sound I'm able to spit on. She swipes the saliva off her face with the back of her hand, and I grin widely at her.

"Asshole," she mutters.

"Bitch."

"Moron."

"Please," Alexander says. I can't see him, but he's obviously somewhere. "Get the hell on with it all."

"I just want to make it good," she says, looking back at the trees. More black hair skims against my face, and while her head is turned I realize the blade she pierced my finger with is still there, just lying in her hand limply. So, resisting pain, I clutch my hand around the blade and yank it free from her palm, which catches her so off guard I'm able to push her to the side and stand with the homemade blade in my own possession.

"Now look what you've done," I hear Alexander groan. "Now he has the blade. Bravo."

"Shut up, goddamn it." Her head whips back to me as she stands up to her feet faster than I can comprehend, and lunges. But I sidestep, and she tumbles. I want nothing more than to lunge for her myself and kill, but something from behind hits me, and I fall towards the ground, the blade still in my hand. I try to move it, but I can't, it's too late, I can't move the blade—

I feel the sharp point slice through my chest deeper and deeper as I see the soil coming closer and closer. Finally, my body hits the ground, and the pain of the knife in me is too much. So I pull it out, but it seems to make it worse, because my hands immediately fill with blood. Ariel is laughing, saying something about how she didn't have to do anything and I'm so stupid I did it for her, but I can't hear. It's too distant. I can't be bothered. I'm too tired, and I really just want a nap.

So I shut my eyes and pray for the pain to go away, whispering goodbye to my father.


	36. Betrayal

**A/N: Once again, I hope everyone's still reading this. ****If you are, please review. (:**

**Mara's POV**

Still haven't found Cheyenne or Connor. A cannon's gone off, though, so I've gotten a tad worried. I thought of them as my siblings, especially Cheyenne as a sister since that first day in the arena, where she refused to leave me behind. If I was her in that same situation, I probably would have panicked and run away. But she didn't. And so I have a lot of respect for her.

I made Krow and me a few nice meals. The one we had for dinner tonight was seeds I found mixed with some edible plant leaves for a salad, and some bits of meat from sponsors. Which are small, but whatever. I make do. And it's kept us up and alive, that's for sure; just not as much as the beetles did.

He's distant from me too often throughout the day, as we wait for the anthem. I basically know his entire life story by now, but still his mind is in another place, probably somewhere with Shrike or his sisters or mother or deceased father. Because I know if I were him, that's where my mind would go.

"You okay?" I ask Krow. The anthem plays and the logo lights up the sky, so he has an excuse not to reply.

Bridger and Victoria have died since the incident in the cave. I haven't seen Connor or Cheyenne's faces, so if they managed to get out of there like Krow and I did then they're all right. But I do know that two cannons went off when we were in there. And those mysterious two cannons have been haunting me ever since.

"I think they're fine," Krow says. I know it's just to get the conversation away from my former, "You okay?" so I just shrug and nibble on a tiny piece of meat, making it last—something I've learned how to do in the years my sister and I have had to survive on terrasae—my terrasae, specifically. "What about you? Are you fine, Mara?"

I smile slightly. "Am I fine? These are the Hunger Games. I don't believe you're ever fine during the Hunger Games, unless you're someone like Ariel."

"Point."

I let the smile grow a bit more. I've grown to be at ease when I'm around Krow. If it comes down to the two of us—not that it will, just hypothetically—I'm not sure I'd be able to kill him.

"I've spilled all my secrets to you, but you've let out barely anything. Just that your sister isn't pleasant."

And the smile fades. "Well, I don't really have any secrets, to be honest."

He nudges me with his elbow.

"I just—I don't know." I stare at the pieces of meat we have left; begin to wrap them up in leaves and shove them in my pocket. "For years it's just been me and my sister. We share a room. My mom is always remote, so she doesn't help much. I'm the only one who gets terrasae, so it's kind of hard, you know?" I continue to wrap the pieces of meat up because it's something that distracts me from the words. "But I love my mom and sister, I really do. I feel a tad lost without my sister bossing me around, and all, but I guess I'm always lost, in a way."

My vision blurs, but I shove more leafs in my pocket. "I have a few really good friends, but I'm not like, the popular type. My sister is, though. We're opposites, so that may be why we can't get along very well. But we've never been close. Ever. I can't remember a time when we were anyways, so it doesn't even matter how all of this ends for me." Hair covering my face, I blink, hopefully Krow doesn't see, and make a few salty tears fall onto the ground. Then I pretend I have an itch in my eye and wipe the remainder of the tears, stand up, and clap my hands to finalize the subject. "Now, where are we camping tonight?"

* * *

**Ariel's POV**

I'm actually disappointed about how Bridger died. I didn't get the real pleasure of killing him—I didn't really do anything. He escaped from _me_, and then Alexander basically finished him off. In fact, if it wasn't for Alexander, I'm not sure if I'd be alive. But admitting that aloud to him would be more of a mistake than… like… well, I don't know. It would be more of a mistake than a really big mistake.

When the anthem finishes that night, I notice something else. That Cheyenne chick wasn't in the sky, even though I almost finished her off when Alexander took the situation over himself.

"Where was Cheyenne?" I ask, and look over at him. He doesn't look back.

"Probably still dying somewhere in the desert."

"It does not take her that long to die."

"Obviously, Ariel, it does."

I resist the urge to slap him. The cameras are on us. There are sponsors watching. "Don't _obviously_ me, Alexander. That was a poisonous cactus, and the sun was at least a hundred and some degrees out today. Are you trying to say I'm stupid? Tell me the truth, what did you do with her?"

"I thought the sun would be enough. More painful. So I left her there while she was unconscious."

What an effing idiot. I sigh, tell him exactly what I think he is, and that in the morning, after I've had some rest, she's the first to die. Her cannon will be fired early; she won't know what hit her. But I have to look my best while making my best kill yet, of course, and so beauty sleep is necessary.

"I'll take first watch," he tells me. "You _do_ need your beauty sleep, you're right, so I'll wake you up in a few hours."

It's only once I'm half-asleep that I realize this was an insult.

* * *

**Zed's POV**

I had to save myself. I don't care what the Capitol thinks right now, what was I gonna do? Really? She was dead and gone already—Ariel had her. And I swear it looked like Alexander was about to wake up. So I booked it outta there, before they got me too. Now at least our district might get some wealth.

And she was kind of annoying, anyhow.

I settle into a tree the night I see Bridger's face light up the sky. Trees have been safety since I haven't had Victoria to help camouflage and pull around everywhere. Try getting her up a tree while she has a bad ankle. Impossible.

My eyes are just drifting shut when I hear a crunch. They snap back open, and I hold on tight to the branch I've strapped myself to with vine. Did I do that? It was a very loud snap, so if it was, someone must have heard.

I wait for a few seconds, and then peer down through the branches supporting me. A shadow. I hold my breath, grabbing tighter onto the branch and the vine fastening me to it.

The shadow quickly passes. Attacking would be stupid, it could be Ariel or Trafford or someone else that knows how to fight and has a weapon handy, so I stay up in that tree with my eyes wide open and gripping the vine, mentally sending out hope that nobody saw me, and I might get to survive another day. Heck, maybe now that I don't have a weight I placed on my own shoulders, I have a shot at this thing.

* * *

**Alexander's POV**

It's a pretty loud crunching noise when I step on that one branch, but I'm not too concerned about it. I'm Alexander. Anyone who dares fight me better be in a pack of four or more, or they're done for.

So I wander on through the jungle, because I need to get to Cheyenne before Ariel does. It's not like I can stand by and watch Ariel kill her—but that's what I'm going to be forced to do if I stay with her. The only thing I can really accomplish is getting to her and warning her, and then maybe get back to Ariel before she wakes up from her beauty sleep or whatever and realizes something's up. Or I might have to stay with Cheyenne. I don't know. I'll make big decisions later, when I actually need to.

I walk until I've lost my sense of direction, and I have no clue how to get back to where Ariel and I set up camp. Not good. So instead of stomping through the trees totally aimlessly I begin to think, where would I be if I was out here on my own, probably completely sun burnt and had no allies to my name?

Deciding I'll check the desert—it's cold there at night, so it wouldn't be a terrible idea—I walk in a straight direction until I feel a cool breeze, and I follow it for at least another hour till the dirt turns to sand and trees to cactuses, and then I walk some more until I find her, lying on the sand.

She is quite burnt. Her formerly-ivory skin is now bright red, even in the darkness, and I'm scared to touch any part of it.

"Cheyenne?" I whisper her name, at first, but then have to increase my volume to a yell. "Cheyenne! Wake up!"

She jerks awake, groaning in pain. Her eyes focus on me. "You again? Just get it over with, please, and get it over fast. I have family watching this, and at the moment I can't exactly move."

"I'm not going to kill you. Ariel wants to, so I'm just warning you."

Cheyenne doesn't move anything besides her mouth. "Wow, Alexander, thanks. It's especially helpful when Ariel's _ally_ comes to warn _me_—a third-degree burnt person—who can't even stand up, let alone run or fight, that one of the most dangerous people in these games wants to kill them." Her eyes roll. "She wants to kill everyone, anyways, so what's your point?"

I take in a deep breath. This is what I get. I walk for hours to find her, to help her, and I get a lecture about—basically—how much of an idiot I am. Something I coulda gotten from Ariel, herself. I'm the descendant of a very famous winner of these games, and _this_ is what I deserve?

"Fine. I understand that you—a third-degree burnt person—who can't even stand up, let alone fight, with no allies, doesn't require any assistance. I'll go." I'm turning to walk away, when I hear her sigh.

"Okay, but before you go, could you help me stand up?"


	37. Fake

**A/N: ****My internet's been down the last week =/ Sorry guys. **

**I really don't know who's going to win yet. I have a bunch of general storylines in my head for each character, so it's only as I'm writing it when I decide if a character dies. Planning before writing doesn't work for me, because it turns out dull and predictable.**

**Annnnd my vacation was good****, the weather was rubbish. Blech!**

**Tiffany's POV**** (1)**

I'm almost afraid to go to sleep. Violet seems dead-set on killing me. I can't blame her, though—I haven't collected food or water or anything since we found a small cave to sleep in. Trawny wants me to stay with them, for some reason, and I think that's the only thing that's really stopping her from disposing of me.

But, eventually, I fall asleep. I'm not sure how long this peacefulness lasts for; it's still dark when Violet wakes me up, telling me we have to move. Move where? She says anywhere, but there are footsteps and voices coming closer. Really, I'm not concerned. Did these people that are coming closer to us find the Cornucopia? Do _they_ have Violet, some kinda genius at martial arts, fighting for them?

Yeah, that's right. Didn't think so.

"Get the food," she tells me, gesturing to the back of the cave. I walk back there, barely aware of myself, grab some of the food and shove it in the front of Trawny's backpack. I think I grab something extra, because I feel a smooth object that feels different from the rest of our pieces of fruit slide into the pocket, but I'm not too bothered. Then the three of us leave the mouth of the cave and enter the jungle, where the stars are still visible in the night sky. Sort of sad to think that my parents might be back home, looking at these exact stars right now.

"Hurry up, Tiffany. We can't slow down. They're coming closer."

I don't hear anything, but I don't tell her this. I _am_ half asleep and everything. I just try not to trip as I follow Trawny who's following Violet, as we either go deeper into the jungle or are exiting it. Really, I just hope that she knows where she's going and we won't run into another waterfall cavern thing or something more dangerous; a trap that we can't get out of.

As we walk more and more, I begin to hear what Violet hears. But it doesn't sound like footsteps. It sounds like buzzing. But maybe it's just my ears, I mean, I _am_ half asleep, so it wouldn't be that bizarre if I was just imagining things.

"Who do you think it is?" Trawny asks. He's not asking me, though, I can tell, so I keep my mouth shut.

"I don't really care, as long as it isn't the careers."

Then we're silent, and the 'footsteps and voices' gets louder. It really sounds like buzzing, now, but neither Violet nor Trawny seem to notice the difference. So I decide to say something. "I don't think that's people."

"You don't think _what's_ people?"

"The noise," I tell Violet. "It doesn't sound like people to me. Maybe it's just, like, something in the sky."

Even though it's dark I can see her eyes rolling. "Something in the sky? That's not _something in the sky._"

"I hear it too," Trawny says, and I have to resist giving Violet a told-you look. She could kill me right now if she wanted to, after all. "It sounds like insects."

Violet's face pales. I'm wondering what's so horrible about insects—would the Gamemakers really kill us all off, anyways, just after we found the Cornucopia and the fun's about to get started?—but then I see she's staring off into the distance, over my shoulder. So I turn around, and see a fog floating towards us. At least, I think it's a fog. Or a mist, maybe? Violet just grabs Trawny's hand and breaks off into a run, but I stand there a little longer to see what it is.

The fog expands as it nears me, and when it's only about sixty metres away I can tell it's made of really small parts, making it _look_ like a fog. When, actually, it's—

Bugs.

And most likely, they aren't friendly.

I run after Violet and Trawny.

* * *

**Ryli's POV**** (7)**

I wake up in the morning feeling like somebody's banging cymbals around in my skull. I feel nauseous. And my head is pounding. And my vision fades in and out every once and a while, making it hard to see.

Ebony is still sleeping, so I go and check on Odyss, who is supposed to be on watch just outside the cave. I find him passed out at the entrance, mouth open wide and limbs sprawled out every which-way around him. It's a good thing that nobody came looking for prey last night, or we all might be dead by now. But, this time, I suppose I'll let it slide.

I'm just too tired to be much of a bitch.

"Odyss." I shake him awake, and he mumbles _breakfast_ before bolting upright and grabbing a stick we sharpened last night, automatically pointing it at my chest. "Settle down. It's just me."

His expression softens. "Oh. Good. Because I don't know if I'd be able to fight right now." He rubs his neck. "I feel like crap and I think I slept the wrong way. My neck hurts a lot."

"I feel like crap, too." I sit down beside him and tuck my knees underneath me in a comfortable position. What did we even do last night? The last thing I can remember is Odyss saying to go to bed and he would take first watch, and something to do with dancing—

It hurts to think.

"I don't remember anything." Putting my head in my hands, I let out a long breath. "I'm hung-over. But we didn't drink. The Gamemakers wouldn't leave bottles of alcohol lying around the arena, would they?"

"No. But they might have put alcohol in something we ate. It doesn't matter much anymore, we should just find some real food and maybe some water. My throat is dry."

So we wake Ebony up—which takes us about ten minutes, because she keeps saying she just needs one more minute and then she'll open her eyes—and go straight into the jungle, Odyss taking a tiny sip out of his canteen of water. The first few days must have been easy for the sponsors to send us items. Now, though, as the games are progressing, who knows? We might be losing sponsors by the minute, possibly for something we don't remember doing last night.

"Do you remember anything?" I question Ebony.

"What?"

I repeat a little louder, "Do you remember anything?" Her ear is becoming a problem, now.

"Oh. A little. I remember dancing a lot, and drinking a bunch of our water and eating most of our food supply. And I think I fell and scraped my hand on a rock." She flashes me and Odyss her palm, which has a scratch from the bottom of her middle finger to the bottom of her thumb. "It stings, but it'll be fine."

"Great. I was starting to wonder where half the water in my canteen went. But why did we eat the food supply and drink the water? Do you remember _that_?"

She turns her good ear to hear Odyss before replying, "No."

I rub my temples and shut my eyes for a split second of relaxation. Today is gonna be a long day.

If we can last through it, that is.

* * *

**Tiffany's POV**

One of the insects lands on my arm, and I'm suddenly wide awake. It sends a shock through me like a lightning bolt, like a surge of electricity, and my feet move faster. I have to catch up with Violet and Trawny, or I'm done for.

I look back, but regret it. There's so many of them. Higher than the tallest tree. And running to the side to try and get away would be useless. If we come to a dead-end, well, then that's our end. These bugs have electricity in them, obviously, so jumping into water might not be such a fantastic idea if the insects are feeling suicidal. We need to find the point that these bugs can't cross. If there is one.

And, if there isn't—

Like I said. Then that's our end.

"Violet!" I scream. "They electrocute you!"

She doesn't look back, she keeps running, but I know she heard me. So I guess that they'll drag me along, keep me alive, until _their_ lives are on the line. That's when it's every man for themselves and the alliance really doesn't matter a lot to them.

I keep running, but even I know I won't be able to do it for much longer. I haven't eaten or drunken properly the past few days—the way I do at home. The power I have now won't be enough to keep my energy that high.

My toe catches on something rooted in the ground—probably, like, a root—and I go flying forwards. I manage to stable myself on my hands and elbows but I know that it's too late to get up and run again. The insects would have me back down in a second, electrocuting me until my heart stops. So I stay perfectly still and cover my head with my hands, face facing the dirt under me, and listen for the buzzing, until it seems right over me. But I don't feel any bug make contact with my skin. They sound like they're flying away, exactly above my head, following the direction that Violet and Trawny ran in.

I don't move, even when the buzzing is really quiet. I wait for it to disappear completely, and then lift my head off the ground.

They're gone.

* * *

**Zed's POV (10)**

In the morning when I wake up, anchored to my tree with that vine and bark-colored camouflage covering me, the first thing I do is hop down and use a very small salt-water reservoir I found on top of a hill to wash all the camouflage off. It's made out of stuff like animal crap, and I smell disgusting. If I don't attract the other tributes with the stench I probably will with some animals and insects.

"A new day," I whisper to myself, washing the last of the shit off my arm. "It's your time to shine. You can win."

I have a shot at it, I'm pretty sure. The games, I mean. But I'm going to need _some_ sponsors—difficult, after watching Victoria die a painful death in the hands of Ariel.

I don't know _who_ would sponsor me after that. _I _wouldn't even sponsor me.

Unless…

As I'm washing the crap off my arms I dig my nails deep into my flesh, keeping my arm under the small amount of water so the Capitol can't see what I'm doing. I dig deep enough to make my eyes water, and then swipe the tears away with the back of my hand, like I'm embarrassed. "I can't believe it," I say. "I'm such a coward. What's wrong with me?" Turning my head up to the sky, I yell, "I'M SORRY, VICTORIA'S FAMILY! I'M SO SORRY!" And push my nails deeper into my skin, already wiping the fresh tears away.

And, just like that, a canteen full of water drops from the sky.


	38. A Way With Wolves

**A/N: So my internet's been down. And it came back up, but I have no virus protection, so my dad hasn't been letting me go on. I'm sneaking on right now to post this. Because I feel bad for not updating as much as I used to.**

**Blaaah I'm so sorry guys, I feel so guilty right now. **

**Cheyenne's POV**

Alexander doesn't leave after he helps me off the ground. He walks with me to the other side of the jungle, which takes a while because we have to walk the entire diameter of the circular desert, and I slowly lower myself onto the soil, staring at the sun that's rising from the other end. A mixture of colors fill the sky—pink, purple, blue, orange and red, and it's really pretty.

I'm expecting him to go—what other business does he have with me?—but instead he sits next to me. "I'm sorry if I was a jerk in any way."

I shrug. "Whatever. That was then. You were young and naïve, right? I've heard it before."

"Really. I'm sorry."

Trusting people in these games gets you killed. Especially ones that are allied with Ariel. But it won't hurt if he thinks I trust him, will it?

"All right. Apology accepted."

"Good."

We sit there for a minute, watching the sunrise, and I'm fooled by it that this is a normal day—soon, I'll be heading off to school. But then I remember that any time now either Alexander or me is going to die—or both of us—and so I snap out of beautiful sunrise-mode and pull myself up and, without another word to Alexander, begin to walk through the jungle.

"Where are you going?" I hear him ask.

"I'm hungry."

"Oh. Me too." He's beside me in half a second, and I wonder why he's trailing me around everywhere. What if he's going to make me trust him, and as soon as I go to sleep stab me in the back? But, then again, if he was going to do that, he could've when I was _telling_ him to, when I was totally defenseless in the desert. Unless he's waiting for Ariel, or something, but during the training back in the Capitol he didn't seem all that fond of his district partner….

It really is too confusing.

**Trawny's POV**

Violet says that I fell down and hit my head and went unconscious when the bugs were chasing us, and every single one of them stopped flying and descended on my backpack, sparks flying up everywhere and my arms and legs jolting every once and a while with the shocks. I have burns all over me now that I don't know the medicine for, and my backpack is destroyed from the bugs, along with half of our food supply. That's what the bugs went for. Plus, we lost Tiffany. But a cannon hasn't gone off, so she's alive right now.

Is that a good or bad thing, though?

For lunch we eat a little bit of beef jerky that was in Violet's backpack. My stomach is still rumbling, I get more back in District Eleven, but I can't complain. Better than a bunch of leaves like all the other tributes must be having. Besides, that jerky will probably only last until dinner. By tomorrow, we'll need to find new food.

"She should be dead," I hear Violet mutter through a mouthful of meat.

I shrug, because I don't like getting caught up in this kind of drama.

"How is she not dead?"

I shrug again. "Who cares?"

Now it's her turn to shrug. "I guess. Oh well. Next time we see her, she's dead."

**Krow's POV**

I'm still thinking of Shrike, but I don't let it show. Mara and I are too caught up in trying to find food and water for me to be thinking about anything other than surviving. I mean, when we started out, I was pretty sure one of the four of us in our former alliance had a pretty good chance of winning. Now, I'm not quite as optimistic.

"Something must be going on, somewhere," Mara says, pulling up a root from the ground, and shoving that in her pocket. "Nothing's happened to us for a while."

I nod, but it's speaking too soon. A howl comes out of the distance; echoes off the tree trunks and ground and reverberates in my eardrums.

"That's a wolf." I can recognize the type of howl immediately. The same howl comes again, which is weird, since it can't be that late in the afternoon, and another overlaps it. Along with two more, totaling four. There could be more, but four is more than enough to overpower the two of us—which is why I grab Mara's forearm and practically drag her in the opposite direction. "Run. Fast."

Mara isn't exactly the fastest person I know, so we have to resort to her climbing up on my back and me carrying the two of us through the forest, away from the howls. And howls. And howls.

But they near us faster than we can make distance. And soon I can hear the tiny sounds of each paw hitting the soil behind us, combining together to make one big stomping noise. Each of the wolves seems to be in sync with the other.

Mara is swearing, telling me that she's only slowing me down, and that at least one of us should be able to survive, but I ignore that. Leaving her behind would be like leaving her to die. Would be like killing her. And I can't help but think of her family, watching, listening to her telling me to leave her to die. So I make my feet move faster, despite the fact that her weight actually _is_ slowing me down, the thudding sound of my footsteps; we have to go faster—

One of the wolf jumps, and I don't get a good look at them until both Mara and I are pinned underneath one, a horrid stench of something dead hanging on its breath.

"Don't move," I whisper to Mara. I can hear her breathing getting heavier by the second.

The wolves are twice times my own size. Just with its forepaws on my chest, I can barely suck in enough air—and when I do I regret it, because of the wolf's terrible breath.

Remembering my wild dog back home—it's not the same as a wolf, maybe, but a last hope is a hope—I start saying, "Shh," in a kind of whisper, and gradually bring my hand up to pet its head. Soft grey fur tickles my fingertips, and I continue to pet it, until the weight on my chest isn't as great. Then, as much as a risk as it is, I lift its paw off my body. The wolf doesn't object, so I do it with the other paw as well, and then bring myself to the balls of my feet, still petting the wolf's head.

"Krow…" Mara starts to say. Her voice shakes. I hold up a single finger to her, and she doesn't say anything else. But I can hear her breathing.

There are more of these animals than I thought. There are at least eight behind the two that landed on me and Mara. And they're all staring at me, waiting for my next move, ready to pounce.

**Ariel's POV**

So, Alexander's somewhere. I woke up from the sun beating down on my eyelids, and guess who's _not_ on watch? Yes, that's right. The asshole I have as a district partner.

I could've _died_. Died! Because he was stupid enough to wander from his watch position, and I will bet anyone any amount of money this moment that he's trying to find his way through the jungle and/or desert right this very second, completely helpless and clueless as to where he is.

Honestly, all our sponsors have probably abandoned us. We were supposed to come across as a couple. Maybe not a _happy_ couple, exactly, but a _couple_ at the least. _Together._ And now look at us. Well, don't look at him when you could look at me. I really just want to tear his throat out of his neck. As much as I want to do with that District Eleven chick, whose name escapes me. And that is saying a lot.

What is _wrong_ with him?

**Krow's POV**

Mara gets up from the ground after I work the same magic with the wolf that had been on her as I did with mine, slowly, as I take her hand and help her. But I only allow her to crouch down on her knees, so neither of us is taller than any one of the wolves, and we don't come across as intimidating.

The ten or so wolves stare at us, dark and fathomless eyes boring into my own. The wolf that had been on me walks closer and sniffs at my feet, and then my knees, and then my hair. It sniffs Mara, too, who really looks like she's trying to keep her composure, although her knees are clacking with each other and her teeth are making a _click click_ sort of noise.

I touch her hand, trying to comfort her. It doesn't work.

The wolf that sniffed the two of us makes eye contact with me—he's probably the leader of the pack—and I lower my head. It howls once more, and then retreats back somewhere into the jungle, while the rest of the pack follows.


	39. What Happens?

**A/N: I'll admit it, I teared up a little writing this chapter. This one, besides the last scene with Nicholas, is the only one I have so far. It was a close call with some others. But I was in a pretty ****depressed mood when I wrote it. Probably shows, too. **

**So good luck.**

**Oh&May long weekend(: I've made a goal to ****update at least once between Friday and Tuesday. If I don't I give you all full permission to send Ariel after me.**

**OH & thank you to everyone who's been reviewing!**

**Bambi's POV**

Do I care that Marina hates me?

No.

Do I care that Trafford seems fed up with me being in their alliance?

No.

I didn't come here to make alliances. They're only going to break sometime in the end, anyways. I came here to win it. I've trained for this. And now that I'm here, that opportunity isn't going to slip through my fingers. No way.

We haven't found much more water than we formerly had, but the tiniest canteen has come down from the sky, which of I got half of and Marina and Trafford each a quarter. But that's a given, I thought—I'm dehydrated. And they don't seem to be in the same predicament as I am.

And until around lunch, when the sun is highest in the sky, everything is going just fine for us. I've got enough water for us three to walk around the jungle for the rest of the day, maybe even the desert, and that's where it looks like we're headed. Trafford says that he finally wants to search out some tributes—and if we _did_ find Alexander and Ariel, it's obvious that we would be able to take them. Three of us, two of them.

But it's around lunch, when the sun is highest in the sky, that things turn into complete chaos.

We make it to the edge of the desert, our backs to the jungle, when I hear a rumbling, and the ground vibrates. I don't know what it is, but, obviously, it can't be good. Any kind of noise besides your own breathing in these games is your cue to run, and so that's what we do. Right into the desert, even though the ground keeps vibrating, so much, in fact, I think I see the sand shifting.

Trafford is yelling something to Marina when the sand underneath me just disappears, and I lose my footing on an edge that wasn't there a few seconds ago. I fall, my hands scrambling for something to hold on to, but I grasp tiny grains of sand in my hand that slip through my fingers like water—no use. I don't understand what's going on—what _is_ happening?—until I look around me, and see the ground collapsing around us. Marina has fallen through a hole in the ground, too, and Trafford is sticking out one of his hands to each of us.

I manage to pull myself up from the hole, onto the solid ground on which Trafford is standing, and grab Marina's other hand. We get her up, but something sticky and wet drips onto my arm, and Marina is gasping, and I can see that—

Her stitches have come undone.

"Do we move?" I ask, ignoring the steady stream of blood. "Or stay in this place?"

"Stay," Trafford replies without blinking. "This part of ground seems stable."

So we stay, Marina and Trafford tying a piece of cloth, that doesn't seem to be much help, around her bleeding arm. Above us, it's one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen. The fluffiest white clouds I've spotted in a while; the perfect type to make images out of. The sun shining brightly through over the treetops in the distance. But around us is devastating—sand, suddenly sinking into the ground, which leaves deep and dark empty holes everywhere. I don't know when it will stop. And, it must, but even so, how are we going to get around those gaps?

I don't know the answer to any of my own questions, so I just stand with my back to the two that would betray me if they had to and watch the world being destroyed.

**Marina's ****POV**

I feel sick to my stomach. Trafford ripped off a piece of his own shirt to tie around my open wound, but the blood's soaked right through and is staining the sand red. I don't even notice the destruction around us, anymore.

"There aren't any stitches left in the kit," he tells me, and I shut my eyes. We're trapped in this one spot until the Gamemakers think we've had enough. Which means there's no way we'll get out of here any time soon. Which means that there's a likely chance I'll be bleeding to death, or my cut will get infected by the sand and dirt, and I'll die anyways.

I don't know how to describe what that feeling is like. The feeling you get when you know you're going to die, and nothing you can do will prevent it. You feel vulnerable and scared, but you don't want to let the others around you know that you're scared, because these are your last few hours. You should live them like you should have lived the hours you completely wasted.

And you wish you had done more with your life, because who knows what happens now? Where do you go? What really happens? Are you just gone? _Poof. _For ever?

Because, really, forever is an awfully long time to be gone for.

"Marina?" Trafford says. "I'm sorry."

Apologies are useless. What are they worth, now? What is _anything_ worth now?

"It isn't your fault." I smile at him. Trafford. My ally since day one. And I know you're not supposed to show the scared part, but my eyes tear up anyway, thinking of my family. Back home. Watching this right now. "Win," I tell Trafford. "Win for District Two."

I take another look at the blood pooling under me, and instantly regret it. What does it feel like to die? Will I be anything, after I've breathed my last breath? Or will I become nothing, and everything I've done in my life just tossed to the side?

"I'm scared," I whisper to Trafford. My heart is beating fast. I know any second, it'll be it. I'm already feeling woozy. Vision is blurry. The world is spinning.

Trafford gives me a hug, but doesn't let go. I see my blood seeping through his pants, but he doesn't seem to care much about it—he just goes on and holds me, and I'm wishing that he could hold me to this world, but that's impossible, so I bury my tears in his shoulder and tell myself the most positive things I can muster up right now.

Oh jeez, I'm scared.

"No matter what happens," he tells me. "We'll remember you."

I think I should say thank you, but I'm too woozy, now. My eyes are heavy. I could hang on—but what would be the point? The ground is still collapsing. We have no medical supplies to save me. And, clearly, our sponsors are too cheap to send me some kind of cure.

Which is fine.

I never really had a chance, did I?

**Ebony's POV**

We hear a cannon around mid-afternoon, just as the sun comes down from the roof of the sky. It's not Ryli. And it's not Odyss. And it's not me. So, for now, I'm all right.

"How's your ear?" Ryli asks, plucking a feather off a bird that Odyss caught. I don't know how he did that, but it's going to be a nice change from the edible plants I've been scoffing down the past few days.

"Same old," I inform her. "Could be better."

Ryli just nods and bows her head down to stare at that bird with bright blue feathers. I'm not sure what kind of bird it is. Blue jay, maybe, except that it's bigger, with a longer beak. I would ask Odyss, because he might know, but Odyss hasn't really spoken to me too much since we woke up with somewhat of a hang-over. He seems to be really thinking today. But that's okay, because we haven't gotten into too much trouble.

"Who do you think it was?" Odyss asks, meaning the cannon, and I'm sure this has got to be one of the most popular questions asked in these games.

"Zed or Tiffany," Ryli bets.

"Trawny," I say.

Odyss says that he thinks it was one of the Twos or Cheyenne, and the three of us decide that whoever's right receives an extra sip of water from one of our remaining canteens. But for now, the three of us just wander around through the jungle, our feet crunching through the branches and leaves scattered across the ground, until we hear voices.

"I'm going to _kill_ her—"

My first guess is Ariel, and as I look at Odyss and Ryli I can tell that they're thinking the same thing. Odyss puts a finger to his lips, signaling that we have to be quiet, and points to a tree with branches so thick I'm not sure how'd I even _begin_ to climb it. But I slowly take my homemade bow and arrow from my pant leg anyways, and duck under the tree, shoving my head painfully through the leaves.

It makes some noise, but it blends in with the wind, and we can't worry too much about that now. If it's the careers, and we're left with javelins and bow and arrows, on foot we wouldn't have a chance. Maybe from up above, we might, but with my bad ear and only Odyss being kinda decent in hand-to-hand combat…

Ryli climbs up after me, followed by Odyss. I can hear the voices, but there's only one dominant one, and the other just sounds as if it's mumbling. Sounds like Alexander and Ariel to me.

"Will we attack?" I question, still struggling to get higher and higher in this tree. I could easily get up, if there weren't so many branches blocking my way.

Odyss doesn't reply. Neither does Ryli. They both ignore me, and the three of us continue pushing the thick branches out of our paths, trying not to make any more noise than the wind is.

**Violet's POV**

"I'm going to _kill_ her."

It's been a couple hours since we lost Tiffany, yeah, but I'm actually kind of mad. A cannon has gone, but somewhere inside I have a feeling it wasn't for her. How could she have gotten off scot-free, when Trawny is limping as we walk, deep red burns covering his skin with no idea how to heal them? A little tube of burn medicine has fallen from the sky, but it isn't enough. We got past his legs and arms until we ran out of the stuff and we still have his face and neck and scalp to repair.

Trawny shuffles beside me, and I feel a bit of a pang, looking at his totally injured form, wondering if those wounds are fatal or not. "Don't yell so loud. Who knows who's around here?"

I shake my head. "I can take them, whoever they are. It's pretty doubtful someone's found the Cornucopia since we did. I mean, who's stupid enough to jump in that waterfall cavern thing?"

He considers this, I can tell, as the two of us walk past trees with layers and layers of branches, which only let the odd ray of sunlight onto the ground. It seems later than it really is because of this.

"Do you hear that?" I ask, and stop suddenly. Snapping. Twigs snapping.

Trawny stops too; neither of us dare to breathe until a branch comes hurtling down on Trawny's orange head, which has lightened to sort of a weird blond from the sun, and he says "Ow" a little louder than I would hope he would, just as an arrow pierces the tree next to us.

Against my own will I let out a bit of a scream. I never really knew how I'd react if it came down to a real fight, with weapons and all, because I didn't expect it would happen so soon. Someone found the Cornucopia? Someone got a bow and arrow? And, evidently, my martial arts stick can't fend off arrows from both Trawny and me.

So I grab my district partner's hand, which makes him cry out a little because of the burns and all, but I just tighten my grasp and start to run. My heart is pounding. This can't be it. This can't be it. If I die now—

I won't. I can't think about it.

Another arrow shoots, this time successfully hitting Trawny's foot. He falls, crumples up on the ground, and I try and lift him up but he's too heavy. I can't carry him. Besides, I don't even know where this mystery shooter is—up in one of the tall trees surrounding us, standing behind one, someplace else?—and so it would be near impossible to defend against these arrows.

I lift my backpack up so it's covering my head and back, and readjust so my body is blocking Trawny, who is just lying there on the soil, a root looking like it's digging into his right leg, and I feel another one of the arrows enter my backpack. I could take it out, but my entire arm would be vulnerable.

So I can either stay in this same position, _waiting_ to be killed, run and leave Trawny to his death, or try and carry him through the jungle.

Turns out, I don't have to do any of the above.

Because I hear a frantic rustling above us, and somebody swearing, and then a person tumbling from the sky and landing right beside me.

And then all hell breaks loose.

**Zed's POV**

Yes, yes, I have sponsors. No big deal. I've just been living off them for the past day, and when that cannon fired, I was chowing down on a loaf of bread sent to me by a sponsor I probably don't even know. But, take note, I was chowing down with grief. Grief for Victoria, of course. I'm pretty sure my mentor likes it, too, because I've been getting more and more things. One for each tear that I shed.

I don't mean to be cocky or anything, but I'm one of the strongest players in these games right now.


	40. Could've Would've

**A/N: I did it. I posted it over the weekend. Pretty darn soon, too.**

**Review? : ) Even if the POV's are a bit shorter in this one?**

**I think I'll get another chapter up this weekend, too. If you reviewwwww…**

**Ryli's POV**

When Ebony falls from the tree and right into the hands of Violet and Trawny, the jungle is still. The wind stops for a moment, and everyone holds their breath, just for that split second while we wait to see what's going to happen. Odyss is the one who takes advantage of this split second, jumping from the tree and landing right beside Ebony, flawlessly, making Violet reach for some long stick thing, which she automatically starts to swing.

Odyss watches it for a moment before reaching out his hand and grabbing the end of it.

I can't tell from my position high in the tree, but Ebony isn't moving. She must be unconscious. And maybe I should go down there, help Odyss out, but this could mean a life or death thing for me. If I go, I'm risking my life for people who might die anyways. If I don't, I'm risking my sponsors.

Shit.

**Alexander's POV**

I've been praying and praying that the cannon that went off is Ariel. That would solve my problems. All of them. Besides the fact that I still haven't won these games.

But I know it isn't Ariel. Not even I can be that lucky.

I give Cheyenne a bite of bread the two of us got from sponsors. She still can't move all too well, and she really _does _look like she's in pain with all those burns. But, whatever. She'll push through it. Sunburn doesn't kill you, especially not in the Hunger Games.

"So when is she coming?"

I turn back to look at Cheyenne, who is sitting on the jungle ground with her back propped against a tree, still chewing that bread I gave her. "What do you mean? Who?"

She rolls her eyes and shoves the remaining bread down her throat. "C'mon, Alexander. Obviously Ariel is just _waiting_ to pop out from some tree and rip my throat right outta my neck."

That makes me smile a little. "Rip your throat right out of your neck? May I use that one some time?"

"You won't be able to. If Ariel kills me, she's killing you too. You know that, right?"

"I know that. _But_, there's another factor in this."

Cheyenne rolls her eyes again. "Yeah? What?"

"Ariel isn't going to kill you."

**Odyss's POV**

I grab Violet's martial arts stick, and try and rip it out of her hands, but she holds on, regaining her balance in seconds. She's freakishly strong for such a small person.

"Where'd you get it?" I ask her, referring to the weapon. We're currently in a bit of a tug-of-war kind of thing, seeing who will fall first. I could try the old letting go when she's pulling trick, but the girl has balance on her side.

"Cornucopia," she spits out, and I risk a glance at Ebony. Yeah. She's out cold. Won't be much of a help right now. But then, where the hell is Ryli?

"You found it." I make it sound doubtful. Like, how could _you_ find it? I can see the sparks flare up in her eyes, her grip tightens on the martial arts stick, and I take the chance to simply let go. Violet flies backwards, I caught her the one moment where she wasn't exactly balanced, and I lunge forwards, grabbing the weapon, whipping it from her hands. Score.

She's up in a second, though, using the balls of her feet to propel herself right at me, and the two of us tumble onto the ground just missing Ebony's unconscious body. I'm holding the weapon up, blocking her hands from hitting my face, and as I hold the end of it tighter with both hands, I'm able to fling her off to my side and onto the dirt. She stays there. Motionless. Doesn't move.

But no cannon.

I'm panting, lying on my back and staring up into the tree that I was in just seconds ago. Ryli is no where in sight—apparently she didn't think helping out her alliance was that important—Violet and Ebony aren't moving, and that Trawny kid is curled up in a ball at the foot of a tree, his chest rising and falling slowly.

I could kill all three of them. Right now.

**Tiffany's POV**

I'm not really sure where I am, but to be frank, did I ever?

Nope. Not really.

I'm on a cliff overlooking a vast ocean. Or, it looks vast. I wonder if I jumped in it now and started swimming, would I be able to find my way home? Maybe it's a trick the Gamemakers put in. You swim across the ocean, you automatically become the victor of the Hunger Games.

Ha. No. The whole looking-at-the-glass-half-full thing seems a bit far-fetched at this point, where any second could mean my death. Besides, the Capitol would be opposed of that easy victory for sure.

If that cannon that went off a while ago was Violet's, these games just got a whole lot easier. Trawny would die off, eventually, because he'd be out there by himself. Meaning all of my two alliances would be killed off before I was. Even if I don't win, and end up dying, then that would be a victory all by itself. I outlasted Keith and Nicole. Why wouldn't I be able to outlast the rest of them?

I can't think of one appropriate answer to this question.

And even though I know the chances of me winning are slim to none, and slim just booked it across this ocean, I reach out my arms and feel the wind pushing my hair back. The waves are splashing. The sun shines down, a tingly warmth. This is the moment I would chose to stay in forever, if I had the choice.

But I don't. So it's time to move on and find some food.

It really is a shame that I'm not all that wonderful with edible plants. But some insects are safe to eat, right? Like, anteaters eat ants all the time. Which is why I scout out some anthill thing back in the jungle and munch on the black little buggers, enough to fill me up, which happens to leave me standing there for quite the while—smushing them in my hands, forcing them in my mouth, forcing them down into my stomach. Over and over again.

These are disgusting.

I really should have learned about those damn edible plants.

**Ebony's POV**

I wake up to Odyss's face above me. He has Violet's weapon in one of his hands, and is shaking me and whispering "Ebony". I blink a couple times. My ear is sore. If I bend my neck a little to the right a raging pain goes through me. But I get up anyways, and stare at Violet and Trawny who are both lying on the ground, only Trawny still looks to be awake.

"Shouldn't we kill them?" I ask.

Odyss blinks a couple times, but doesn't answer my question. He does, though, pick Violet's backpack up off the ground and slings it around his own back.

So I try another one. "Where did Ryli go?"

He shrugs and starts to walk through the trees. I follow hesitantly. Not killing Violet and Trawny when we have the chance is a huge mistake. The Gamemakers will find a way to get us back together again, and we'll have to prove to all of the Capitol: Who's better? The Elevens or the Fives?

"Odyss…I'm not an expert on killing people, but I really think it would be best to—"

He shrugs again before I can go on. He doesn't want to hear anymore.

And this is why I didn't want to make alliances. But I did it anyways, because Odyss and I were getting sponsors piling in from the whole brother-sister appearance, and he _did_ save my butt that one time with the careers, pulling me up into that tree. And I kind of owed him one. Now–do I? I saved Odyss and Ryli from those mutant fishes, at that beach. If you ask me, my debt is repaid.

And I could survive by myself, couldn't I? I'm great at hiding out. All right at attacking with my bow and arrow or javelin or anything that has to do with aim—that is, when I can hear properly.

I could do it.

I _will_ do it.

Tonight.

**Ryli's POV**

My heart beats hard against my chest as I wipe some blonde hair from my eyes. I have to get as far away from here as I can. I can't let Odyss and Ebony find me—if they're still alive—because if they do, there's a pretty strong chance that they're going to kill me. Kill me for abandoning them. And being a coward.

Back home is where I want to be. My family may not be the richest in town, but we get by, and no deaths of the people closest to me have been caused by our lack of money, yet. I'd rather be watching the two people from my district on that big TV screen in the town square, my family sitting right next to me, rather than them being there all alone while I'm featured as traitor of the day.

But Violet could've killed me. It was, sort of, my only choice, besides just staying up there in that tree. Which probably in the end would've made me out to be an even _bigger_ coward.

My feet jump across the rough landscape as my eyes scan the area for a place to hide out. Somewhere I _won't_ be found by the District Fives this time. Or any other tributes, for that matter. But I see nothing. No caves, no trees with thick enough branches to conceal me, or to just climb, nothing.

But—what about that beach? There had been those evil fish, but I wouldn't have to go down the cliff and onto the shore. Besides, there had to be some kind of cave buried in the side of that rock, right? Some place that no other tributes would bother finding…

The beach it is.

**Trawny's POV**

It burns. Man, it burns. Every inch of me. And it gets worse by the second. It's like I'm on fire. And that cream that a sponsor sent, it's not working. Not at all. Because I still feel the fire all over me, and I can't move because of it.

I've gotten burnt before. I work in District Eleven, and live in an orphanage, after all. The mayor doesn't mind child labor. But this—this is bad. It burns worse than being shoved in an oven like that old witch did from Hansel and Gretel.

I haven't heard any cannons. Violet is alive. But I don't hear her or see her—it may as well be possible that she's abandoned me. But, then again, I can't blame her if she has. Who would want to lug around some chubby little ginger when it's a very serious life or death situation?

I can't worry about that kind of thing right now, though. Right now, I need to worry about staying alive.


	41. Dancing to Death

**A/N: ****I know it's short. Sorry everyone.**

**No school for me tomorrow. Hence, time to write. Hence, ****maybe another chapter.**

**Hence reviews?**** (: Pleeease?**

**Mara's POV**

If Krow hadn't been there when those wolves came, I don't know what I would've done. They probably would have eaten me. But they didn't, and for that I couldn't be more thankful for my ally. That same night we get a canteen full of water from the sky—or at least Krow does—and I can't blame whoever that sponsor is. I mean, he was good with those wolves. He knew what he was doing.

The sun sets and the moon rises, and the anthem is interrupted by a cannon. Krow and I stay silent in the tree we're sitting in. Another cannon. But the anthem keeps on playing, and I wonder if the two tributes that just died will be shown.

They are. Alongside Marina.

But still no District Threes. We've given up on finding our former allies because it just seems hopeless. Besides, if we run into them we run into them. That'll be that.

"Mara," Krow whispers suddenly, after the faces in the sky turn to darkness. "Do you really think one of us has a chance?"

Well, _you_ do, I want to say. But I don't. I stay optimistic by saying, "Of course we do. There aren't that many careers left. The Fours, one from Two, the one from Nine. Violet's still out there somewhere with her martial arts. But I think we're just as strong as them, Krow."

Or, at least, he is. But I don't say this either. I just shut my eyes and breathe deeply, feeling at peace on the outside, but horribly scared on the inside.

I want to go home.

**Tiffany's POV**

I camp out on the same cliff I was enjoying before. The sounds of the waves slowly lull me to sleep, and I dream of winning the games. Oh, how wonderful it is. I have a large and fancy house—fancier than the one I have now—with heated flooring and everything. I have so many velvet dresses I can't keep count of them all, and I show them off to Abigail who always seems to think she's better than me. Huh. Who has the nicer dresses now, Abbey?

Then I get married. It's to Porter Smith, the most handsome boy at school. We have two kids, one named Greggory and the other Ruby, twins. They're both so adorable—Ruby with her bright red hair and blue eyes, and Greggory with black hair and green eyes.

And we're having a fantastic life, the four of us, until both Ruby and Greggory get chosen at twelve to participate in the Hunger Games.

I'm watching their death on TV when I wake up with a start.

That's horrible. My kids are going to die in the Hunger Games. Both of them. The same year. Imagine that!

Oh, at least I'm married to Porter.

_Crack._

My head swiftly jerks around, looking for the source of that noise. Sounds like twigs snapping.

_Crack_.

There it goes again. Could be the wind or the tide down below me, but it sounds like it's coming from the jungle just feet away from where I'm lying. I think about lowering myself down the cliff, but I don't have the best balance and falling down the steep rocky thing wouldn't be too pretty at the end. So I just stand up and stare at the jungle, waiting for someone to emerge.

The wind blows, leaves rustle, and no more sound is heard. I sit back down, closing my eyes. False alarm.

_Craaaaaaack._

I open my eyes just in time to see someone running at me, full speed ahead.

**Ryli's POV**

I charge at Tiffany because she's just lying there on her back, no weapon or anything, totally defenseless. And who knows? Killing a tribute might get me sponsors. Especially after that whole coward thing with Odyss and Violet back there.

Grasping the stick I sharpened in the jungle—like Ebony did with our javelins—in my hand, I run faster up to Tiffany who's gradually getting up on her two feet. I still can't believe I'm really doing this but I lunge anyways, about to pierce her skin with the stick when—

It snaps. As soon as it makes contact with her skin, the freaking thing just snaps in half. There's still a bit of the wood left in her skin, though, so I use this moment to make a fist and punch her between the eyes. She falls backwards onto the ground, but rolls over and dodges the foot I send in her direction, moaning a little in pain and saying, "Who do you think you are?"

I don't have time to jump out of the way of her swinging legs, which cause me to tumble onto the ground alongside her. I see a flash of her blue eyes and brown hair as my back hits the solid rock, all the air whooshing out of my lungs and leaving me paralyzed for a split second. But that's all Tiffany needs to jump up off the balls of her feet and land on my stomach, knees digging into my rib cage. The remaining air I had in me escapes, and I gasp for breath.

"Out of all people, you're the last person I expected to attack me," she tells me.

I bring the heel of my palm up so quickly she's unable to react until it makes contact with her lower jaw, and she flies off to the side of me. I don't have a moment to take in any oxygen, so I do so as I dive back onto Tiffany and punch her in the throat as hard as I can. That must hurt, but I don't stop. I keep punching and kicking, pinning her to the ground, because I want to survive. I need to survive. I want to make it back to District Seven alive.

I have such a rhythm of this, now, I don't realize that Tiffany has reached out and found a very sharp rock. I only realize it when it's digging into the outside of my calf, and I'm crying out in pain as it breaks through my flesh. She pushes me off of her, and my leg is hurting so much I can't object. I feel the stone go deeper into my muscle—is that a muscle?—and then slide down so the wound is much larger. I see the blood, and her arm is rising above me with the sharp point coming down, aimed right at my chest—but I need to get back to District Seven—I have to—I don't want to die…

I can't stop it, though. I feel it stab right into my chest.

I struggle for breath. Maybe I can hold on a little longer. Maybe—

It hits me again. I can't breathe. I can barely see Tiffany. She's just a blur above me. I think the rock stabs me again, but I don't feel it. I just feel numb.

And then I hear the anthem starting to play as the rest of the world fades out.

**Tiffany's POV**

Yeah, so I killed someone. No big deal or anything, it's just that I don't think anyone really saw that coming from _me. _Tiffany, the girl from District One, whose district partner was much stronger than her. But guess what? She outlasted him, anyways. By far. And now that I've killed someone, I'm on a high. Why couldn't I do this before? I bet if it came down to a fight, I could beat anyone. I could beat Ariel.

Well, all right. Maybe not _Ariel._ But, like, Trawny.

"Yes!" I exclaim. The District Seven girl whose name I can't quite put a finger on is dead. And a career didn't kill her. Oh, no. I did. "I did it!"

I feel like dancing a little, so I do. Punching my fists in the air and twirling around in circles till I have the urge to throw up, and tossing my hair and—

Suddenly, the ground disappears. I stop moving so much in time to see the cliff rise above me—I'm falling. Right off the edge of the cliff. My mouth opens involuntarily and I let out a scream that echoes right off the rocky wall, and I'm wondering how much longer I can fall for until I hit the bottom and—

I hit the bottom.

Pain courses through me; I'm not able to catch my breath. When I look down, I see I landed straight on a tip of a big pointy rock, and that big pointy rock has gone right through my stomach, blood puddling.

Oh, shit.

It's over.

**Ebony's POV**

Ryli's face lights up in the sky. Odyss doesn't seem too fazed by it. But she was our ally. Our friend. And now she's gone.

I have to get used to that kinda thing, though. These are the Hunger Games.

I volunteer to take first watch, because I want to get a head start on getting out of here. So by the time Odyss wakes up in the morning, I'll be long gone, hiding out up in a tree and picking the other tributes off with my bow and arrow.

It'd be possible to backstab Odyss, but I wouldn't do that.

When I tell him about me taking first watch he seems a bit uneasy. Probably because I'm half-deaf. But I can tell that he's absolutely exhausted from the day we've had, and so he drifts off to sleep before his eyes are even closed. Now, I wait. I wait for at least an hour and a half, until his snoring gets much deeper, before I even get out of the cave we camped out in once, I think. The one we woke up hung-over. Once outside, I tie a canteen of water around my waist with some vine and take the leg of a bird Odyss caught with some trap earlier, shoving that in my pocket for breakfast, and with my bow and arrow tossed behind my back I make my way into the jungle.


	42. A Snoring Problem

**A/N: ****A lot of people asked for this. So here you go. These are your games, after all.**

**Once we get to the final eight I think I'm going to get into the characters' ****heads more. Their pasts and that kinda thing. **

**But as for now, onto the story! Thanks to everyone so far who's been reviewing and favorite-ing this fanfic so far.**

**Violet's POV**

I wake up at night. The anthem must have already played, because the moon is very high in the sky. I can't remember much of what happened, something with Odyss from Five, but I sit up, abruptly worrying about Trawny. A dizzy spell darkens my vision, but I look around for him and ignore the pounding pains in my head.

There he is. He's curled up around the bottom of a tree, and even in the blackness, I can see the bright red burns he got from those horrible bugs all over him. Grimacing, I stand up, wobbly but I'm up nonetheless, and make my way over to him. He's fallen asleep. So I shake him just the slightest bit, and his eyes immediately pop wide open.

"You didn't leave," he says, face flushed with what looks to be relief. I shake my head and bite my lip. It would be easy to leave. To leave this defenseless little guy to provide for himself in these horrible Games. But it's not quite in my nature to take the easy way out of things.

"Can you walk?" I ask.

"Help me up."

I do. He's at least able to stand on both feet steadily, but when he starts to walk he sways a little bit. No balance. My martial arts stick would be able to aid him in walking, possibly even allow him to run—except it's gone. I don't know where, but I know I didn't lose it. Someone must've stolen it. I'm guessing either Odyss or Ebony, as those are the two I remember fighting earlier. My backpack is also gone. That had our water and iodine, some strips of beef, and the proper herbs and leaves Trawny told me to gather that might help with his burns. They didn't do much, but it was better than what we have now. Nothing.

"We'll move now," I tell him. "Find shelter and stay there until you can walk."

We move as silently as possible, but Trawny has a limp in his gait, making it difficult to stay absolutely silent. And at first I think the branches snapping are just Trawny, but when we stop to rest after about an hour and a half of wandering, the snapping continues. We're being followed.

I don't tell Trawny this. It might cause him to do something dramatic. I just grab a stick about the size of my old martial arts one off the ground, hit it against a tree trunk to make sure it's strong enough, and when I conclude that it is I tell Trawny that we're setting camp up here for the night. He doesn't seem to find it strange that we'll be sleeping right out in the open, in the middle of the jungle or anything, so he must be real tired.

I say I'll take first watch. Rapidly, he falls into a deep sleep.

"All right," I whisper, loud enough for anyone watching to hear, but quiet enough so Trawny doesn't wake up. "Come out. I know you're there." Nobody appears, so they're either too afraid to, or they want to wait until Trawny takes watch and I'm the one asleep. They won't get that chance, though. I've had enough rest, being unconscious for a couple hours. That rest can keep me going for days if I need it to. "Don't be a coward, come out."

Still, I don't see a soul. I lean against the tree trunk Trawny is sleeping on, the large branch I found sprawled across my lap, as I look out into the trees surrounding us. "Well, when you'd like to reveal yourself, I'll be waiting for you," I inform whoever it is. "Just don't be too long, or I might have to come out and look for you myself."

**Zed's POV**

The reason I follow Violet and Trawny is because, earlier, I'd seen them with backpacks full of water and food, and a few moments ago they walked right past me through the jungle. Plus, I haven't eaten or drunk a lot today. Sponsors are dying down from the publicity stunt I pulled. But if they have water, I mean, why not? I could beat that little kid up if I needed to.

I'm hiding behind a bush with no leaves, it's all dried out and only has brittle brown branches hanging about. But if I'm good at anything it'd be camouflage, so I've myself suited to the same brown of the branches and the way the moonlight falls in through the trees. With my darker hair, it's not too hard to blend in.

"I might have to come out and look for you myself!" Violet shouts out, and sits down with that big twig on her lap. She has to fall asleep sometime. And when she does, I'll just sneak over there and get their supplies. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Who knows, maybe I can even kill the pudgy squirt. Dedicate that for Victoria.

My leg is cramping up a bit, so I risk sitting down on my butt and stretching my leg out. The old branches extend further than this, so it doesn't affect me being concealed; however, my leg crunches down on one of those old branches and it makes the loudest noise yet. Violet's head twists around the tree trunk, she stands up with her weapon looking ready to crack someone's head open. She doesn't scare me too much. Besides, my camouflage is pro. If I just stay silent for long enough—

"Look," she says. "Whoever you are, your plan sucks. You don't know how to be sneaky. Just come out and save me the trouble of hunting you down."

But if she thinks I'm coming out, she's wrong. I don't want to kill them—I mean, if it comes to it, I'll do it, but if I don't have to then I probably won't. I just want their stash of stuff. Wherever that may be. Is that too much to ask for?

I now lay down behind this bush, this time soundlessly, because I'm a little tired and resting my eyes for a second isn't a horrible idea. Maybe when Violet doesn't hear me, and gives up, she'll fall asleep. Then I'll wake up. Ransack the two of 'em. And possibly kill off that kid.

My eyelids drift shut, I feel sweet sleep overcoming me…

It doesn't seem to last for long, because I'm woken by someone tapping my shoulder. I open my eyes to Violet standing above me, black hair a curtain around her face and the branch dangling from one of her hands. "C'mon," she says softly. "If you're going to fall asleep right outside my camp, make sure you don't disturb me and my district partner by snoring."

I don't have time to roll out of the way of the piece of tree, because it hits me right on the side of my face while a piece of it splinters off and flies into my left eye. I think I might be screaming in pain, but I can't tell if that's me or Violet. Pretty sure it's me, though, because as soon as the branch breaks through the flesh at my chest the screaming gets louder. I can't see well because of that piece stuck in my eye, which I pull out, but it hurts even more. Holy _shit_, it hurts. It burns in my eye, worse than that time in the Capitol when the shampoo stuff sprayed right out of the nozzle and into my open pupil, and my mentor had to get me a buncha eye drops until all the red disappeared. And now I can't even breathe because that friggin branch is lodged right into my lower chest. No air is filling my lungs. No air at all.

Fuck. It's only swears and regrets that go through my mind. If I hadn't followed them—or just not as noisily—I don't think I'd be here right now. On my death bed. For the whole of Panem to see. I think of Victoria, and how I faked that I loved her blah blah blah, so right as I feel that it's the end I croak out, "I never loved her," just to get things straight with the Capitol audience, who cares about sponsors now anyways, and then stop trying to hold on.

**Trafford's POV**

It's just me and Bambi now in our little alliance, since my district partner died. I get the hint that she doesn't like me too much, Bambi, but I suppose that's all right, as the feeling is mutual.

At least we don't fight like Ariel and Alexander did.

We're stuck with Marina's body in the collapsing desert for not much longer—the hovercraft needs to come and collect her, after all, and soon the sand is refilling the holes and Bambi and I are saying our last goodbyes to Marina before taking off across the sand, and into the jungle. And when Marina's face lights up in the sky, along with Ryli's and Tiffany's, I feel like I need to win this thing. Not just for me anymore, but for Marina and my family and my district…

"Trafford." Bambi is sitting on a branch across from me with her feet hanging off the edge. Her long hair covers half of her face and the moonlight is behind her, so it all shadows whatever she's thinking right now. "I think we should start picking tributes off. Like, Ariel and Alexander maybe."

Plucking at a splinter in my right palm, I consider this. It's what we careers are supposed to be doing. Killing everyone. But the Fours kind of stole the spotlight on the whole viciously murdering other people thing, and I guess we never really thought about it after splitting from the group. Now, though, it'd be me and Bambi against Alexander and Ariel. I know Bambi's tough. But I'm not sure if she could take down Ariel. Alexander and I, it's an even match almost, him being a little buffer but me being a little wiser. A hard call to make.

"I don't know why they haven't picked each other off yet," I mutter. "But tomorrow we can start searching for all the other tributes. I don't particularly want to go after the Fours, but if we run into them then we won't back down."

Bambi nods. Usually she would try and fight me for the leadership of our two-person alliance, but tonight she seems tired and just rests her head back on the trunk of the tree. We're both strapped in by vines, on a very tall tree that has no leaves or branches but at the top, which would've been impossible to climb up if it wasn't for us coming up with a sturdy enough invention made of roots, vines and thick branches that got us up to the top. No other tributes would even consider looking up here for us and, luckily, neither Bambi nor I are terrified of heights.

She falls asleep before we decide who's staying up first. Guess it's me. I pass time by practicing knots to set up a trap later that's sure to get us off this awful plant diet with some vine hanging down from the tree. Tying knots is not my forte, but I can pick up things fast. Remembering what the instructor taught us back at the training facility I push the rabbits around each other; through the loop hole; one under while the other goes over…

I test the knot out. Tug at it. The vine itself will break before it does.

I let the whole thing drop to the ground because the vine wasn't that strong anyways. Then I wake Bambi up and, eyes already closing, fall asleep.


	43. Up

**A/N: Sorry guys, I****'ve been sick the past week, so I haven't really gotten to my laptop as much. Enjoy and review, though? Possibly? (:**

**& I'm s****orry it's short. The next one will be longer, I promise. **

**Odyss's POV**

I wake up in the morning to a spider crawling up my chest. Startled, I jump up and flail my arms around and smack myself until I'm sure it's off, and when it's gone, I blink awake and look around for Ebony. She never woke me up for guard duty. She isn't here, either. Or in the surrounding trees.

She didn't die, this I know, because the cannon would have woken me. Ebony either walked off, sleep-walking maybe, or someone came and stole her. But the second one seems too unlikely so I put that idea to rest and concentrate on what I need to do. Eat. Drink. My throat is sore from thirst, so I reach for one of our canteens of water.

One is missing. There are two left, but one has completely vanished. And, taking a glance at that bird I caught, a piece of it is missing as well. But I can't let this get to me either—not now. Ebony might have been slowing me down, anyways. She was small, half-deaf, good with a bow and arrow and all, but still. Now I have one mouth to feed. Mine. And she may be tiny and remind me of my sister, and be my district partner, but in the end there can only be one winner.

And I need that winner to be me.

I consume the remainders of the bird by lunch. My stomach is still growling, and I haven't found something else to eat. Edible plants—I learned a little bit from Ryli, but not enough to be sure that I'll be safe with eating a certain leaf or whatever. I carve a javelin, instead, the way Ebony showed me until the point is very fine and sharp. I then use that to catch a rabbit, which I skin, but I can't light a fire to cook it or anything. That would attract too much attention.

Unless I…

I arrange three piles of wood and sticks. One is closest to the desert, the other in the middle of the jungle, and the last on that cliff by the beach. I light them all, hopefully attracting the career's attention more so near the desert, because once the rocks are heated from the fire near the cliff I immediately set it out, the wind from the water blowing the remaining smoke far off into the distance, and put the rabbit pieces on the hot rocks. I'm practically drooling; all that running around with logs works up an appetite.

I don't have to wait long until it's cooked enough to eat, at which point I get up and walk away from that site just in case. You never really know. Especially with that psycho Ariel still roaming around somewhere in this place.

Eating while I walk, I can't help but think about where Ebony is right now. I see my little sister Jacklyn in her a lot, and I sorta cared for her during the games like a sister. Of course now I have to learn to put myself first, especially in a game of life or death.

**Cheyenne's POV**

No matter how hard I try I can't figure out why Alexander has stayed with me, helped me through everything, while in the end Ariel is going to pop out from nowhere and stab me with a sword. Sometimes when I look at Alexander as he's sleeping I wish that I had taken Connor's place, and he had gotten himself out of that cave. I'd rather die a noble death and sacrifice myself for someone I care about, rather than be a sitting duck waiting for the District Four girl to kill me.

And I could kill Alexander. I don't have a doubt. Even if he wasn't sleeping when I did it. Because I think he might like me a little, just a little, or think I'm cute at least. And you don't normally go off and murder someone you think is cute. Normally, that is. But these are the Hunger Games. I suppose nothing is quite normal here.

He wakes up in the morning, and I've already gone to the trap he set up last night, after teaching me how to set up such a trap, and see it's caught some kinda… weasel? I don't know what it is, but I show it to Alexander who grins, skins it, and cooks some parts of the thing on hot embers that heated up in the desert. As I'm chewing a particularly chewy part, he asks, "Do you want to play twenty questions?"

I swallow. "What's that?"

"I ask you twenty questions about you."

"That's… simple." I stare at a tree far in the distance, not letting my guard down. "But all right." Really, I don't have much to lose. Thankfully my sunburn is mostly healed; but the parts of me that got beaten up from my encounter with Ariel are still sore and sprained.

"Favorite color?" he starts.

"Blue."

"Food?"

"Um, oranges."

"Place?"

"My room."

"Person?"

"My brother."

He frowns slightly. "Damn. I was kind of hoping you were going to say I was."

My smile stays hidden, though. "Well, you can be my second-favorite, I guess."

"Nah." He waves his hand in the air. "It's no use. For me, it's really first or nothing."

"You don't like losing, then?" I ask, mid-chew, even though I already know the answer. He allied with Ariel, didn't he? Clearly, he doesn't like losing.

"It's not that I don't like it. It's just that I'm not too good at it."

That smile stays hidden, too.

**Ariel's POV**

Oh, Alexander is past being killed. He is going to suffer. _Suffer. _In my hands. That whole star-crossed lovers thing between us was over before we met—I mean, come on. Me and him? Not only am I completely out of his league, I'm so much higher than _him_, but if I had the chance I'd kill him in a second. Especially now. If only, if only I had—

A silver parachute falls from the sky. I stop in my tracks to turn and look at it as the blade catches the reflection of the sun. It's by habit that the corners of my mouth go upwards—not a smile, though; it's a menacing smirk that will frighten the audience of Panem. Let them know that today will be an eventful day.

My sword.

**Violet's POV**

After the hovercraft comes and collects Zed's body I fall asleep. And I wake up to the sounds of Trawny puking his guts up in the bush next to me.

I groggily get up and go over to him, rubbing his back and yawning at the same time. It goes like this for another few minutes up until he stops, turns to me, and passes out. I'm still half-asleep but I rest the back of my hand on his forehead. He's burning up. Badly. I have no clue how to solve this besides putting a cool cloth on his head—and, lately, I haven't seen any cold cloths prancing around the arena ready to use. There must be a plant that would help. But Trawny is the one who would know that. Not me.

I do the best I can think of by pouring some water over his head and ripping his sleeves off his shirt, so he won't heat up too much. He looks peaceful, asleep, so I decide to sit there and wait for him to get a good rest before we continue to move. Sitting with my back against the tree trunk, I wait, my eyes slowly closing—but I can't fall asleep—I won't fall asleep—I'm not tired…

**Trawny's POV**

When I wake up I feel all the food I ate the day before rumbling around in my stomach, so I go ahead and vomit it up in a bush, which wakes up Violet. She doesn't look conscious as she rubs my back in circles, like a mother would do, trying to comfort me, and her tired face is the last thing I see before falling back into a deep sleep.

I feel like crap, even asleep. My head still pounds. My stomach still hurts. And I'm aware of it. I'm aware that I'm asleep. That my burns are stinging. That everything is wrong.

But then I see my mother and father, walking out from the trees. Which is weird, because they died years ago and all, but I don't complain as I run up to them, giving them hugs, them doing the same. And just like that I'm better. My head doesn't hurt, or my stomach, and my burns are healed by the touch of my mom, who is pushing my hair out of my eyes and smiling brightly at me. They start flying away, but I don't want them going away. So I grab onto my mom's hand and she pulls me skywards with them.

As we fly higher and higher into the sky I can barely hear my own cannon.


	44. Escape

**A/N: Oh, th****is was a hard chapter to write. Blarg. **

**Next chapter we're headed to the Capitol.**** I'm halfway done it, but if I could get reviews for this chapter it would make me post it faster(:**

**Oh&after this**** I'll be getting more into the characters' heads, of course. Their pasts and all that.**

**Trafford's POV**

The next day, Bambi and I set up some traps. Neither of us speaks. Speaking is a mistake, because we'll most likely disagree on something and get into an argument I'd rather not be in right now.

But, anyways, these traps aren't for animals; they're for humans. Traps that will catch a tribute by their ankles and pull them so they're hanging upside-down. We even managed to rig it that as the tribute is being lifted into the air, they hit their head on a branch, hopefully knocking them unconscious and leaving them more vulnerable than ever.

Then Bambi and I climb back up into that really tall tree which overlooks every one of our traps. They're all skillfully hidden from a person walking near them, the twigs and vines covered with leaves and soil and under roots, and the vines that hang down from the trees look like they are naturally there.

I wonder vaguely who these traps might catch. Nobody will see it coming. Not even Ariel or Alexander. They could catch anyone who just happens to be walking by this place at this time, who happens to be in this wrong place at this wrong time.

Because whoever these traps happen to catch will die.

**Ebony's POV**

I slightly regret leaving Odyss's side. There's been a cannon sound. If that was him, then his dying is completely my fault.

But one of us was going to have to die eventually. Why not now? Then again, that same thing could be said for me, so I take it back. I'm not ready to die. These games, they just got started for me. I just proved at least a bit of bravery to the Capitol and dying now would mean all that would be gone, erased. Dying now would mean leaving my twin brother Emmett back in District Five, alone, to fend for himself.

Not that I was the main source of support between the two of us, or anything. I'd say it was about an equal split, bringing in food and money and tesserae and paying for some electricity. But that just makes me leaving all the more horrible; my half of the fending will vanish. He might end up getting caught as a minor living alone, and be sent to one of those terrible orphanages where they make you put in twice your share of tesserae to support for the place. Oh, that wouldn't be good.

This is why I clasp my bow and arrow tighter to my side. I need to appear strong on the outside despite my size, even if on the inside the strength isn't as convincing.

Just as I'm stepping over a high root poking out of the dirt, I notice a strange pattern on the ground. Vines are strewn in circles under patches of leaves and I take it has to be a trap. But those circles under leaves are all I see as one of them winds itself around my foot and I fly upwards by my ankle, about to bash my head on a branch, but somehow push my body away with the hand that isn't holding my bow and arrow. I feel like panicking, but I repress the urge. Stay calm. Think of a way out of this.

The fact that at a very distant tree I catch the sight of Trafford from Two and Bambi from Nine scaling down with some kinda homemade device doesn't help the whole staying-calm thing, but I take a deep breath and focus. I could shoot them, maybe. But I'm spinning around and upside-down and my aim will be affected.

Get down, I think. How can I get down? There must be something suspending me, right? I lift my head up painfully so I can see the top of the thick vine—the thickness too thick to break before the two careers reach me. The vine is tied around a branch a bunch of times, and also around a large rock that's on a branch above it. If I move too much the rock will fall on me.

Trafford and Bambi are just getting off the tree, and now running in my direction. They'll get here soon. I need a solution.

What would Emmett say? Emmett would say to use their own trap against them, because he's just that kind of person. But in this case there's no way to use a trap that holds you up by your ankle against the person that created it. They know where the other traps are, they wouldn't stumble into one on accident or something like that…

But I glance up at that large rock, thinking for a moment how they managed to get it up in the tree, but then thinking how I could get it down. If that rock falls it will break the branch the vine supporting me is tied to, but it's also placed directly above me, so it will crush me in the process.

Maybe, though, if I could move out of its path in time….

They're closer, now. Four hundred metres away at the most. They'll be here in a minute.

"Argh," I say, and use my bow and arrow to propel myself forwards, so I'm able to grab the trunk of the tree. The sharp bark digs into my hands. Those careers sure did pick a bad tree for this. Or good, depending on whose side you're on.

I don't have much upper-body strength, and trying to climb up without the strength of my legs would be useless. There's an escape here, if I can just get my thoughts un-jumbled…

Two hundred metres. And both are holding a javelin.

I think of the pain that weapon will cause, and push off of the tree trunk. I swing back, grasp onto it, and then push off again. The rock moves a little, the vine looks thinner. So I keep swinging. When the vine is about to break, and Trafford is lunging to throw the javelin, I give one final push off the trunk and back, pressing up against it as much as I can, and I hear Bambi scream and curse and my branch breaks, and I fall to the ground, waiting to be made into a human pancake by the boulder.

But it doesn't come. I look up, already untying the vine from my ankle, and see that Trafford was in the path of the rock, rather than me. He's on the ground with the rock off to his right and Bambi checking his pulse on his left. Which has to be fine. There wasn't a cannon.

I consider shooting one of them, but don't. In the time it would take me to raise my bow and draw the arrow would be three times the time it would take Bambi to throw that javelin straight through my heart. So instead of killing, I run.

**Trafford's POV**

As soon as the trap goes off I snap back to attention. I see a small figure, looking as small as an ant, flying into the air and I'm already halfway down the tree trunk. I hear Bambi above me, seemingly scrambling to keep up. But I haven't had a kill since… Robert, was it? And I'm a career. I have to prove something of myself _somehow_, especially for Marina, my district partner.

Bambi made me the javelin that's in my hand. She had said, "You don't know how freaking long it took me to make this, so if you lose it or break it I'm going to kill you." I attempt not to break the thing while I hurriedly make my limbs move quicker, and more gracefully, further and further downwards.

And we're both running to the small ant-like figure, who really seems to be as small as an ant, the little one from District Five I'm going to say, who is also trying to make a desperate escape from the vine. Maybe to break the branch? No matter, that rock is suspended to solve that purpose.

I smile, feeling a bit too evil, but these are the Hunger Games nevertheless, and just feet away, less room for error, I grasp my javelin in a throwing position. I plant my feet. My arm is halfway through the air when something hits me on the shoulder, something really heavy and hard, and I hear a yell from Bambi before falling to the ground and blacking out.

**Krow's POV**

It's the cannon that wakes me up. Mara looks over at me the same time I look over at her, and we come to the conclusion that neither of us have died and were the cause of the cannon. But after that, we know that we're not going to get back to sleep, so we discuss what we discuss after every cannon blast.

"One of the smaller ones," Mara guesses. "Like, Trawny or Ebony. Their time is well up."

I don't mention that ours must be well up then, too. "Alexander or Ariel. One of them ought to have killed the other this far in."

She takes it in. "Yeah, that's true. Can I change mine?"

I give her an exaggerated appalled face. "You can't _change_ your guess. Especially not to _my _guess. I can't believe you would even _suggest_ that, Mara."

A smile is what I receive, and it's more than worth it. Mara's smiles aren't exactly rare or whatever, but when you do get one from her, it's like getting the world. I return the grin and pop a berry in my mouth, which Mara confirmed completely safe yesterday. I forget their names but apparently they're extremely uncommon, especially in her District Eight, and she was absolutely ecstatic when we found them.

"Goodness," she says. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were so protective of your guesses."

"It's fine." I shake my head and look away. "Just don't make the same mistake again."

A berry is thrown at me, and I throw a berry back. She laughs, telling me that we're going to play a game her and her friends invented. You have to throw the berry in the other person's mouth, and if you succeed, then you get a point and another berry. Then the other person keeps moving backwards and you see how far you can get. It is little things like these that nobody actually does get to experience during the games, so I don't refuse the offer.

Turns out, sabotaging the other person's throw is considered cheating. And I'm disqualified because that's just how the rules work. Mara declares she wins and we get into another fight throwing the berries around and I'm left to do nothing but soak everything up. Life. Nobody should take something as precise and delicate as it for granted. And I won't; definitely not in the Hunger Games.

**Ebony's POV**

I run through the trees away from Bambi and Trafford. There hasn't been a cannon, so Trafford still must be alive. It's hard to say how long that will last, though. That rock was big.

I concentrate on running. Move my feet faster and faster, they hit the ground at an increased rate; make my smaller legs take larger strides, they fly like a deer's; force my arms to propel me forward, they swing back and forth as fast as a fan. Getting away from Trafford and Bambi is my number one priority right now—and who knows where Ariel and Alexander are hiding.

It's only when I bump into Odyss that I stop running. I knock right into his chest and fall backwards, but he catches my elbow and places me back on my feet. "Odyss," I say, out of breath and exasperated. I can only stop for a moment. I must keep running. "We have to get out of here. Bambi and Trafford, they're back there. Trafford got a rock to the head, I think, but I don't know if—"

I'm cut short by a sharp pain that stabs through my neck. I reach up, feel a long piece of carved wood, and pull it out, toss it to the ground. Blood fills my hands, my mouth, I feel it overpowering me. Odyss is saying my name, telling me not to let go and to hold on, just for that brother I told him about earlier. But the blood, it's sickening how there's so much blood. I can't breathe; it's drowning me. I hope for a second Emmett turned away from the television before this.

Struggling for breath, I fall to my knees and see Odyss's own hands covered in blood. His hands are on my neck. He's trying to stop to blood flow, but I'm not stupid. I know it's no use.

I stop struggling.

**Trafford's POV**

I'm only out for a few seconds. Bambi tells me that the boulder just missed the top of my head, hitting my shoulder, which explains the splitting throbbing coming from there. I'm pretty sure my bone is sticking out of my skin, because blood is trickling down my shirt and Bambi has a disgusted look on her face, but I promptly remember that District Five girl. Not only did she get away from us, from careers, but she injured me! It's too embarrassing to stand, so I stand up with my javelin and run in the direction Bambi tells me she went in.

Far ahead I hear footsteps I assume are the Five's. Just behind me I hear Bambi telling me to stop. Let her go. It's no use. But I keep going. Sprinting faster through the trees. I must be faster than that little girl, I must, otherwise I have failed everyone.

I see her. Up ahead, her long dark hair flowing behind her with a bow and arrow in her right hand. I can kill her from here, I know I can, especially now that's she's stopped dashing away for some reason and stopped. If I could make a shot from one end of the training centre to the other, I can easily make this one. Easily.

Taking two steps forward I throw the weapon. It slices through the air, spinning round and round, until I can see I've hit her; the District Five girl falls to the ground. There's another figure there, too, a larger one with black hair. Her district partner, maybe? Whatever. He's no threat to me.

I turn away to look at Bambi, who is shaking her head and turning on her heel in the other direction like she's disappointed I killed a thirteen-year-old, when she suddenly lets out an ear piercing scream and tells me to duck. I duck, but it isn't in time. The javelin pierces right through my abdomen; I can hear the familiar _whoosh_ before it hits, while Bambi's scream echoes through my ears, over and over. I can't tell if she's still screaming or it's that one that continues to ring.

"Trafford," she says, and kneels down beside me. I fight for breath. "Look at me. Look at me." I look at her, but she's blurry. And there's three of her. "Don't go. Hold on. We have sponsors. We can get sponsors."

I shrug, which is difficult 'cause of the bone sticking out of my shoulder, and shake my head. I got too caught up in these games. I wouldn't let the Five go. I, in the end, caused my own death by the way you stay alive in these games. Not to mention the fact I recognize this javelin poking out of me—it's the one Bambi made. The one I threw, seconds ago, for the purpose of killing someone else and keeping myself alive.

Marina would be disappointed in that, so I whisper a sorry to my district partner. Then I feel myself being lifted out of my aching body, up and away.

**Odyss's POV**

After killing Trafford I run. Seeing Ebony die—seeing that javelin kill her—it set me off. Because I didn't see _Ebony_ there, I saw Jacklyn, I saw my little sister battling to the death, and I saw my little sister drown in her own blood. I felt my heart speed up, pounding against my ribcage, as her cannon went off and I saw her killer, a career, turning away triumphantly.

But instead of walking away I picked up that same javelin and threw it the hardest I've ever thrown anything, ever, and heard the cannon go off for that same career. Adding to the list of many careers that are now dead.

The only real careers left are Ariel, Alexander and Bambi, and maybe Cheyenne. Then there's Violet and Trawny, and Mara and Krow, and me. But one of the others is already dead, if that cannon that went this morning means anything.

Whatever. I guess I'll find out tonight.


	45. The Final Eight Interviews

**A/N: I now have a poll up on my**** profile page, so you guys can vote on who you want winning the games. I, myself, am still clueless as to who will win, and I'm not saying that whoever leads on the poll will be victor, but I'll definitely take that into some consideration.**

**Vote and review? (:**

**Tennacity Fielden's POV**

On the train to District Three, I check my hair three times, redo my makeup twice, and eat one diet pill, completing it all with a cigarette. Then I pop a piece of mint-flavoured gum in my mouth as the fresh air streaming in through my window suddenly becomes smoky and clouded, disgusting, so I toss my used cigarette out into the landscape and roll my window back up.

District Three, factories. Really? The one year I get the job of interviewing the tributes' friends and families, and the tributes from both District One _and_ Two die off. That's just my luck.

The train comes to a stop, and I quickly plaster on another layer of bright red lip-gloss. It's the nice shimmery kind. My partner for the interviews, Corvin, says that it's _too_ bright and blinds him every time he looks at me, although I have always assumed he's simply jealous. Not only am I much better looking than him, but I've been the favorite for the crowds of Panem. It's not my fault that I'm attractive, likeable, _and_ have a higher salary, is it?

Corvin walks into my cabin of the train, rolling his eyes when he catches sight of the shimmery lip-gloss. I pucker my lips just for him.

"Take that shit off and hurry up. We're all waiting for you outside." Then he slams the door and I hear his footsteps fading as he walks down the hall. Silly Corvin. Doesn't he know you need to make an entrance in these interviews?

I wait another minute, time it on my new diamond-studded watch, and then make my way to the front of the train where the exit is and the crew is waiting, clipping my microphone on as I go. District Three may be the factories district, but I'm sure it'll be one of the nicer ones on our stops through Panem. That's why I put on a smile before walking outside.

"Hello, Panem!" I exclaim as the doors shut behind me. I know that the cameras are already filming, and the way Corvin continues to roll his eyes doesn't stop me. "Welcome to District Three. The land of factories, of manufacturing. Right now, my co-host Corvin Bleu and I will be interviewing the friends and family of Cheyenne Wells, the last remaining tribute of District Three this season." I walk over to Corvin and throw an arm around his shoulders. He doesn't like it, I know that, but he's smiling for the cameras anyways.

The camera guy whose name I can't remember tells us that that was a good scene before we all pile into a long automobile and take off to Cayenne Well's house. Oh, sorry, Cheyenne. I need to work on the names. Some of them are truly quite odd.

"Will you stop applying that stuff already, Tennacity?" Corvin demands. I realize I'm putting on another layer of lip-gloss; it's become a sort of habit now, I guess. But the more the merrier, right?

I ignore him until we pull up in front of a small house made of various colors of bricks. It stands out from the others on the block which are all modernized, some even made of pure metal. The camera crew gets out first, and then me and then Corvin, so I accidentally slam the door in his face because I assumed he was out with the rest of them. I apologize half-heartedly with a dirty smirk, him rubbing his nose that kind of points out at the end, while the two of us walk up and knock on the front door.

"You're filming, right?" The camera man nods, and I put on my biggest smile as the door opens, revealing a pregnant young woman and a man in his twenties, or something like that. I'm not too sure who they are, but I keep that smile on anyways. "Hello. I'm Tennacity Fielden from the Capitol's main news station, TCN. The Capitol's News. I'm here to interview you about Cayen—Cheyenne Wells?"

The man's face grimaces every time I say Capitol, and I hear Corvin sigh from behind me, but the guy opens the door and welcomes us in, showing us to a small living room with green floral couches and drapes that match. An old television is placed in the corner, and a coffee table that sits in front of the couch has two mugs placed on top which the pregnant girl hands to me and Corvin. Corvin thanks her. I just smile politely and order the camera man to give them their microphones.

"So, how are you two related to Cheyenne?" Corvin asks, although he must already know. We get envelopes on the train that tell us who we'll be interviewing, and how they're related to the tribute, so it's really all for the cameras.

"I'm her older brother, Angelo. And this is my fiancé, Jannett." He places an arm around her shoulders. I take a sip out of the mug, which is horribly-made coffee. I immediately put it back down on the coffee table. "Cheyenne actually volunteered for Jannett, because, well, she's pregnant."

"Ah," I say, before Corvin can speak. "What a noble act!"

Angelo just nods his head, all glumly. "We know it was. But I'm convinced Cheyenne will be coming home alive. So far luck has been on her side, even if it hasn't been for our other family members that have participated in the games. Nobody has ever made it to the final eight!"

Well, that's interesting. "Other family members?" I press.

Angelo nods again. "Our sister died in the Games. Along with our uncle and our aunt almost twenty years ago—but we've labeled that as our past. It isn't going to affect our future. Especially not this one." He pats Jannett's stomach. Even though I feel no sympathy, no empathy, on the inside, I give a face that shows I must on the outside. I see Corvin's doing the same.

The rest of the interview goes like that. Angelo informs us that Cheyenne is one of the most caring people, ever, and that nobody in their right mind would want to kill her. Blah blah blah, the usual stuff. It just gets their hopes up. When he sees his sister's death broadcasted all over live television is the only time when he'll get the picture.

The interview ends after a few more of the standard questions and, after picking up a nifty souvenir that says "District Three" on a keychain with a mini plastic factory on it, Corvin and I retreat back to the train that will take us to District Four. It won't be a long train ride, but I use the few hours it does take to catch up on some beauty rest. Not that I need it or anything. I just think it's always best to look better than the best.

**Corvin ****Bleu's POV**

We don't even have to knock on Wendibell Peffer's door before it flies open, revealing a—I have to say—very attractive woman that resembles her daughter very much. Black hair, compelling eyes…

Then she speaks and it kind of ruins it all. Like with Tennacity. "You're the Capitol people? Well get your perky asses inside, I have company over; we're watching my daughter win the Games and I want to get this interview thing over with." I give a look at the camera crew before stepping inside her household. It's large—almost as large as those houses they give out here if you win the Games. I can't imagine why her daughter would volunteer when she has this life waiting back at home for her.

She leads us past a room full of people whose eyes are fixed on a high-tech television set and into a room with three seats and a desk, with a window behind the desk. It has an amazing view of the ocean.

Wendibell sits down on one end of the desk, in front of the window, while Tennacity and I take the sign to sit on the other. The cameras set up to our right. Tennacity opens her mouth but I cut her off. "So, Mrs. Peffer, you're proud of your daughter entering the Games?"

She flicks a strand of black hair out of her eyes. "Of course. I'm proud of her and I'm sure she'll be able to win."

Tennacity gets a word in, now. "So you're coping well?"

"Why would I not be? All those other tributes are truly weaklings. My Ariel has a sword, you see? She'll kill the rest of 'em off."

She spits out the last sentence like we're talking about animals with rabies. I suppose we're still talking about an animal, though, it's just that this one doesn't have a disease that makes them foam at the mouth.

If I'm being honest with you, throughout the Games, I've always cheered for the tributes that Mrs. Peffer is calling weaklings. In fact, I was rooting for that Trawny kid up until he died. Damn bugs.

I've never agreed with the Games, frankly. They're a horrible creation that aims to kill twenty-three children for power. And I always feel bad for the families like the Wells—poor Cheyenne, volunteering for a pregnant woman. Her family made it seem like she didn't have a choice in it.

But Tennacity on the other hand… well, I'm not too sure she has much of a heart. "What does Ariel like to do when she's at home?" she asks.

"She practices," she tells us. "My daughter couldn't be more talented with a sword. She takes after her father, you know."

"Who _was_ her father?" I pry.

"Oh." Mrs. Peffer waves a hand dismissively in the air. "He's gone, now. Can't really remember where. But I remember that he was fantastic with a sword. Absolutely brilliant!"

She goes on for a bit more about Ariel's wonderful skills with a sword before turning to the cameras and ordering the people of the Capitol to support her daughter. Not that she needs the help. It's just that she doesn't want her offspring coming home _totally_ beaten-up, and lessening the burden of winning on her would be a great thing to do.

Alexander Willis's family is just about the same. Along with their house—although it's a tad larger than the Peffers'. It has three stories and is made of mainly colorful bricks—coral, perhaps? And, like the room in Wendibell's house, the room that Mrs and Mr. Willis lead us into has a great view of the ocean.

"So, Alexander…" I start to speak, but am immediately cut off by Mrs. Willis. "Is a descendant of Finnick! You all know who Finnick is!" She is talking to the cameras, not me or Tennacity, and Mr. Willis is rolling his eyes.

"He's strong and caring and whoever supports him will be supporting Finnick!"

Tennacity clears her throat deliberately. "Yes, well, did Alexander ever get the chance to meet Finnick before he… erm, passed on?"

"Well, no," Mrs. Willis tells us. "But he's a spitting image of him!"

Mr. Willis talks up, now. "Alexander is a great boy. I know he has the courage to win the Games with his pride, and he would be that way even if he _wasn't_ a descendant of one of the most popular victors in history." This man is more grounded than his wife so I decide I'll be asking any further questions to him. Not the woman sitting next to him.

"Ah." Tennacity nods. "Of course he would be, Mr. Willis! We've all seen his chivalry towards the District Three girl, Cheyenne—"

"Yes," he replies firmly. "But that girl will have to die for my boy to come home, and deep down he knows that."

"But they're just so sweet together!" Tennacity doesn't get the hint, and I cough once, trying to send her the message to stop talking about this Cheyenne girl. She doesn't receive it. "I mean, since the moment he refused to kill her, taking her out to the desert and practically saving her life—"

Mr. Willis looks a bit annoyed. "Yes, Alexander did do that. But if you're suggesting that my son will be like that District Three boy who sacrificed himself—"

"But that was for his district partner. I'm sure it will be different with someone as brave as Alexander, who is well aware of the way the Games work." I look at Mrs. Willis. "Am I right?"

"Yes, yes, Corvin!" She giggles a little. "Especially a brave young man that is one of Finnick's legacies!"

I just saved my interview partner although she nearly broke my nose with that car door yesterday. She owes me one.

But I doubt she'll admit that once we're on the train.

**Jacklyn Fairmount's POV**

The interview people from the Capitol make me feel uncomfortable. The lady is pretty, with curly blonde hair and sparkly blue eyes, but her skin looks bright pink in our poor lighting and her lipstick is too shiny. The man is more normal but you can still tell he comes from the Capitol, with his spikey black hair and really sharp cheekbones and brown eyes that don't have pupils.

"Jacklyn." The lady, I think her name is Tennacity, smiles brightly at me. I want to look away. Her teeth are too white. And this is a waste of my time when I could be watching my brother on the television. "Do you miss your big brother Odyss?"

I bob my head up and down a few times. "Ye, ma'am! I sure do. But he told me that he'll be coming home soon and I'm holding him to that promise."

Mom told me to play the audience a bit. Play the innocent little girl act, even if I know what's really happening with Odyss. It might help him in the end.

"That's sweet." She's still smiling. I wish the man, Corvin something, would talk instead. "You look a lot like him, you know! Has anyone ever told you that?"

I bob my head up and down some more. "We have the same hair and eyes."

"I know, I know!" She starts laughing loud and I want to cover my ears but that would be rude. My mom is sitting next to me and she looks about as awkward as I do, maybe more, because her eyes are red and puffy and you can tell that she's been crying. Corvin asks her questions I don't hear. But then he turns to me and I pay more attention.

"How did you feel about his alliance with the other girl from this district? Ebony Storm?"

His smile is less scary, so I answer him with what I actually am feeling. "She was nice. I cried when she died because Odyss was crying. I feel bad for her family. I don't know how I would feel if my brother died like she did!"

He smiles again. It makes me feel a little better; it doesn't feel as fake as the other girl here, and I think he might feel bad for me—just a small, tiny part of him, at least. I'm good at telling what other people are feeling. "But," I say, "I think that my brother is doing well. So that's good."

"Indeed it is." The grin wipes off his face, and it's replaced with one that _does_ feel and look not genuine. He's spun away from my mother and me and is talking to the cameras, to the rest of the Panem, announcing how their time in District Five is wrapping up, but next they're off to District Eight to see the family of Mara Davies. Stay tuned, he says. Don't leave that TV!

I watch them pack up their cameras and get into the fancy automobile they arrived in—long and glossy and black, with really big tires and smoke that streams out the back like a District Three factory. Before Tennacity leaves she thanks me and my mom. It's phony. It's for her image. To make her more likable to us, probably. But once everyone but Corvin has left he looks at me and goes, "Hang in there, kiddo. Things will get better," and gives my shoulder a squeeze.

And then they're all gone.

**Tarha Davie's POV**

My mother is visibly upset, but the Capitol people don't see it. They're too busy setting up the interview in a place with better lighting and the cameras in the right positions and fixing their blonde curls so they fall perfectly onto their shoulders. Tennacity is one of the few interviewers I truly hate, mostly because she's more concerned with herself than the people that she interviews.

Then again, if I lived in the Capitol and could have my hair done nicely every morning, I would bask it in, too. I think.

If this interview wasn't about my sister participating in the Hunger Games I would be checking my hair in the mirror, now, and making sure the charcoal on my eyelids isn't smudged. But, in fact, it is for my sister, who somehow managed to survive into the final eight. Which, by the way, I am totally proud of. Don't get me wrong. I just wish that if she isn't going to win, she would just go ahead and die earlier and get it over with. I wouldn't be able to stand the pain, either way, but I might be able to manage it better if it would happen sooner.

"Tara!" Tennacity says.

"It's _Tar_ha," I correct her, putting emphasis on the first syllable. If she is going to come in here, from the Capitol, with her fancy hair and pink eye stuff, then the least she could do would be get my name right. And my mother's. Whose she's given the nickname "Renny" to, when it's actually just "Ren". Idiot.

"Right." She takes a glance at her notes like she suspects I'm the wrong one, but looks back up extra cheerfully. I give her back one of those smiles. "Anyways, _Tar_ha, do you_ really_ believe your sister can win the Games?"

"Yes, Tennacity." I stare hard at her, suddenly not cheery at all. "I really do believe she can. No matter what your opinion may be."

There's an awkward silence until Corvin breaks through it. "Righty-oh. Mrs. Davies, do you consider your family to be well off?"

She stares just as hard at these Capitol twirps as I had. "Do we look well off to you, Mr. Bleu? Do you understand what tesserae are? My daughter put her _life_ on the line so we could get by with some _grain_, and this is where it's gotten us." Tennacity offers her a scented tissue, her eyes are watering again, but my mother just gives her a dirty look. "We get by on _grain, _do you hear me? And then you come along with scented—_scented_—tissues, and you don't comprehend why we look at you with such disdain?"

Maybe I should calm her down a bit. Tell her it's fine. Except, it isn't. I respect the words coming out of her mouth right now and I don't want to stop them.

But then I think of the Peacekeepers that flood the streets and rip the tissue from Tennacity's hand, wiping away some of the tears that are flowing down my mom's cheeks. Her hands are beginning to shake. She's going to have a blow-up slash panic attack worse than the one she had when we got the news about my father, so I look at Tennacity and Corvin. "Please leave."

They make some objections—mainly Tennacity—and although I'm fully aware that we're being broadcasted live throughout Panem at this second I don't stop yelling until they're all out the door and walking down the old, cracked stone walkway to their car. Which, as a side note, I've never ridden in before. A car. These people must ride in the glitzy vehicles at least once a day. Ugh.

I go back in the house, turn on the television, and curl up beside my mother on the uncomfortable couch with metal springs sticking out of the cushions while I watch my sister and the boy from Twelve that she's allied with.

It's selfish to want her to come home because of the house we'll receive, isn't it?

**Viv Foakley's POV**

Oh, I adore the Hunger Games. I really do. And my favorite part would have to be the interviews—that Tennacity girl is so glamorous, and that Corvin fellow is to die for. I once entered a contest to meet Corvin, Tennacity hadn't been an interviewer at that point, but I didn't win. Some twat from the north side of the Capitol did. The north side—pah—a filthy place, with its two-cent diners and crazy, cross-eyed people who sometimes beg and plead you for a half a dollar. I've only been there once. My plastic surgeon moved places. But, let me assure you, after that one trip I never went back.

After a short intermission to the bathroom I come back to my television to see Corvin and Tennacity hurrying out of that District Eight's home, Tennacity speaking as she walks backwards down a truly ugly pathway, "We'll be right back with Bambi Shoonheid's family and friends! Don't go away!"

I wait another hour, eating a few orange puff snacks, and then Tennacity and Corvin come back on screen, sitting next to a woman with long brown hair and a butterfly tattooed across her cheek, and beside her is a teenager with straight, blonde hair and green cat-like eyes. They're all in this plush room with red walls, fancy, soft-looking furniture, and a snow-white carpet. I instantly decide I'm going to style my next room in exactly this way.

"This is Bambi's mother, Fanessa Shoonheid." Corvin gestures to the woman with a butterfly on her cheek. "And this is Bambi's best friend from school, Zelda Cork. She's known Bambi since they were both at the young age of six, and is proud of Bambi becoming a strong player in these games." He directs the next question at Zelda. "Isn't that right?"

She nods. "Of course I am! Bambi has been waiting for her chance since Lilly died."

"Lilly…" Corvin stretches out her name. Who's Lilly? I wonder. Corvin _does_ do an excellent job of keeping us Capitol viewers on the edge of our seats. There's a pause between them all and I feel like screaming, "ASK HER ALREADY!" but refuse to as I might end up waking my cat Feather up in the process. And the poor feline is pretty tired after that liposuction.

"Who _is_ Lilly?"

Zelda looks to Fanessa, who just shakes her head and turns away. She might be crying a bit. But I can't tell. The cameras are focusing on Zelda. "Lilly was Bambi's older sister," she tells us. Biting her lip, it looks as if it's hard for her to continue on. "She… Lilly… was a victim of the Hunger Games, a couple years ago. When she died, Bambi vowed she would go back in there and win. To avenge Lilly. She, well, Lilly died a terrible death."

I think back to years ago. Hmm… Lilly from District Nine. Do I remember a Lilly from…? Oh! _Oh! Lilly!_ From District _Nine!_ I nearly, nearly, felt bad for the female Nine that year—the boy from District One tore her to shreds, made sure that she suffered. Ledger was his name. He killed over twenty of the other people in the arena. One of the most exciting Games yet, I have to say, even if this Lilly girl did get the short end of the stick.

"Yes. Well." Zelda swallows. "Lilly was a sweet, beautiful girl. She just didn't have, I don't know, experience. You know?"

Corvin nods sympathetically. "I know, Zelda. I know."

Knows _everything,_ Corvin does! I would marry him if I ever got the chance!

Fanessa talks a little more about Bambi and how she's a pretty girl, but very modest about it and has never been in a serious relationship in her life. This is appalling to me. If I looked like Bambi, I would be using it to get someone like Corvin and not risking it all by _volunteering_ for the Games. I mean, what _is_ she thinking?

Finally they wrap up the interview, and by that time Zelda and Fanessa are both sobbing into Tennacity's pink, candy cane-scented tissues that she did an endorsement advertisement for a few weeks ago, before the Games started up again. I bought five cases of those tissues after that advertisement, and my nose has never smelt so good.

**Rose Crouse's POV**

My daughter has killed. It shouldn't, but the murders she's caused give me hope. They give me faith. Give me the strength to hold myself together, knowing that she has a chance at coming back home.

But the innocent Trawny boy she stayed loyal to for so long, died, just like that, leaving her alone in that awful place. I wish I could be there to make her not so alone. No, just be there instead of her. I wish I could take her place. Die for her. But I can't, nobody can, and I must get used to that concept.

"As you know, Mrs. Crouse," one of the Capitol people says to me. I didn't take the effort to bond their names into my mind. All I know is that there is a man and a woman, both very ritzy-looking, and that right now the man is talking to me. "Violet had a bit of… _conflict_ with one of the other tributes during the training."

My husband gives my hand a squeeze. He knows I'll need more and more encouragement before I speak to these people. "Yes," I tell them. "I'm not disappointed in what she did, exactly. She stood up for what she believed in and for that I'm proud. I couldn't be more proud."

Another clutch on my hand. I do the same thing back. He's dying inside as much as I am, he must be, and everyone needs a little push to keep going every once and a while. Even if they don't say it aloud, even if they keep it all in, like Denver does a lot.

"Yes, well, it was very noble to speak up for someone smaller than her to someone bigger. Or, not _speak up_." The woman gives a chuckle. "The fists did the talking for her, did they not?"

"They did," Denver agrees. "But at least she didn't watch on."

The man concurs with my husband. "Violet has proven disbelievers of her strength. Was she as outspoken at home as she is in the Capitol and arena?"

"It's not like she was afraid to stand up for what she believed in," I say, remembering one specific time when it might've been better for her not to say anything. She came home that day, holding back tears, with the long wounds on her back and an unconscious twelve-year-old boy in her arms. I shudder at that memory. We spent a week's money for food on bandages for her and the boy, and the scars are still drawn down her back like reminders—this is what we can do to you, if you dare stand against us.

The Hunger Games are another reminder of this.

**Tennacity's POV**

Oh my freaking goodness, District Twelve. And, at that, one of the worst neighborhoods that there _is_ in the worst district in all of Panem. Like, honestly. No District One. No District Two. But, here Tennacity, you can go ahead and explore District Twelve, which will actually just end up making you horribly sick because of all the freaking coal dust that's in the air that will make you cough until you're sure you're going to pop a blood vessel in, like, your eye. Happy Hunger Games!

Whatever. It's my job. Getting on that train, leaving District Eleven (which admittedly wasn't that pleasant, with all the fields of people working and the mayor greeting us a little too happily—I don't think they've had many visitors from the Capitol besides escorts the past few years) was hard enough for me. But stepping into Krow Haliss's house, a house the size of the biggest room in my house back in the Capitol, with a stove in the corner right by a bed, made me want to go jump out the window. I mean, I guess there's only one floor, so jumping out the window wouldn't have that much effect. But you get my drift, don't you?

Three little girls—thirteen years old, ten and nine—all with un-brushed blonde, brown and black hair that is equally as messy as their mother's—sit on the ground while their mom, Redina Haliss, sits on a chair across from the couch Corvin and I take a seat on. The nine year old climbs up on Redina's lap, and she pets the top of her head.

"So, um," I say, a little uncomfortable. I can barely breathe. There's coal dust everywhere. "Are you girls attached to your older brother?"

The thirteen-year old, is the only one that speaks up. "We love him. He helps the family, a lot. I don't know what I'd do without him."

"Of course," Corvin begins, twiddling with his thumbs, "but what—"

We're interrupted by the front door bursting open and a young girl standing in the doorway, along with an even younger boy. She's completely out of breath, and as the cameras pan to her, I'm starting to wonder if she's mentally unstable or something like that. What if she wants to kill us, like the Davies, back in District Eight did? She's breathing heavily and the sunlight—the only light—streams in from behind her and casts her shadow long on the floor. I resist screaming.

"Don't tell me I'm too late?" she asks. Then her eyes set on Corvin and me and her mouth—a straight line across her face—slowly turns into a smile.

Redina smiles a bit as well, and I give the camera man a panicked expression. He's big. He's buff, to an extent. If something goes wrong, he could protect us, right? I can't really depend on Corvin. Not after bashing his nose in the car door a few districts ago.

"No, no, dear. Come on in." Redina looks at us. "It's all right if we have another interviewee, isn't it?"

I'm still a tad confused but Corvin recovers quickly. "Yes! Indeed it is! Come, come, and take a seat…" He cuts himself short as he realizes there are no other chairs. "…on the floor."

She does, along with the little boy who hasn't spoken a word and looks insanely frightened by the cameras and me. Maybe Corvin is right. Maybe I need new lip-gloss. It seems to be scaring little children, lately.

"Shrike, right?" Corvin beams at her.

Shrike. Who the hell's Shrike? I should probably know that, but I don't recall any _Shrike_ on that envelope on the train, describing who we would be interviewing. And no little boy, either.

This Shrike girl nods, and I smile although I'm clueless to what's happening. "Yes. And this is my brother Jay. Krow volunteered to save Jay's life."

Oh. Well, there we go. Half of an explanation. I dig into it more. "You and Krow are friends, then?"

Her smile fades. "Should've been. Could've been. Weren't. But when he comes back we will be."

"When he comes back…" I echo gradually, but all of a sudden feeling Corvin's shoe plow into my own, I shut up. It's too dark for the cameras to catch it but it's painful, so I stop talking. It isn't worth it.

Besides, I'll get him back later by slamming his _whole_ head in the car door. Then who will be sorry?


	46. Ready

**A/N: Bad news: I have bronchitis.**

**Good news: I'm not going to school/playing sports for a couple days. More time to write.**

**Also, I'd like to give a biiiiig thank you to everyone who's been reviewing! Getting a review is like finding a twenty dollar bill in your pocket that you never knew was in there. Actually, it's better. So thanks(:**

**Oh, and I wrote a one**** shot-type thing on Johanna Mason. If you have time, read it maybe? (: **

**Violet's POV**

Trafford's face pops up in the sky first. Then comes Ebony. And then Trawny. And then the sky is dark.

I sit in my tree and remember dimly waking up to a cannon, looking over at Trawny's peaceful, still body and instinctively checking his pulse, his heartbeat, and, finding nothing, leaving for the hovercraft to come and take his body away, wiping tears. And, naturally, I got a migraine after all that that's lasted until now. Until now—when I'm up high, safe—for the most part—in a tree propped against my backpack as a pillow, eyes closed but not tired in the least.

Oh, fuck it. I'm not getting to sleep. I may as well make the most of tonight; it may be the last peaceful night I have in a while, bearing in mind there is only eight of us left.

I leave my backpack up high in the tree but hop down, branch to branch, and land silently on the balls of my feet. It's only once I'm down here that I realize I've left that long branch I used to kill Zed with up along with my backpack in the tree, but I just decide that I'll get a new one for the walk and let it keep the remainder of my water and food and burn medicine company, and then start to walk.

It is a nice night. Dark, but nice. The moon is full, barely visible because of the thick treetops, but it's full nevertheless, and what stars I can see are shining. I think I see a constellation, somewhere up there… the Big Dipper, did my father call it once? It was after a long Reaping day four years ago, and it was night and the two of us were lying in one of the fields they usually use to make carrots. It was shut down, though, because of the frost layer, and since it was in our own backyard we took a break back there every so often.

He pointed at a group of stars shaped like a pot. The handle was crooked, and it was at a slight angle in the sky. "The Big Dipper," was all he said. But that's about everything I can really remember. He named a few others, too, some having to do with old myths about a strong man and an even smaller pot, but that was when I was, like, twelve.

Two years after my sister died.

I move subjects, building up everything about my sister behind a dam in my mind. Nothing could, nothing _would_, cross that dam. Thinking about her was one of the worst things I can possibly think about right now, because I need to keep going. Keep going, keep going. That's all I need to do. One thing. Keep on surviving. I can do one, simple little task, can't I?

After I walk for another half hour with no disturbances I circle back to my tree, climb up, and settle down against my backpack, retying myself to the branch I'm resting on. Maybe tomorrow I'll go back to the Cornucopia and get some more supplies. I'm almost out of food; those beef strips didn't last me too long and the roots I dug up got me through the day, but not enough for my taste buds to be satisfied. Yes, I think. Tomorrow I'll go back to the Cornucopia. Having a short-term mission set up in my mind helps me get to sleep, because my stomach is growling and I want morning to come faster.

—

Morning does come fast. I shut my eyes, open them, and then there's sun on me.

Yawning, I roll off to the side of my branch and stretch, when the vine fastening me in breaks. My heart skips about ten beats as I fall and crash through the branches, reaching out for something to grab onto but my hands coming back empty. I don't scream, though. I'm making enough noise already.

I hit the ground, hoping to land on my feet, but instead on my side, on my one arm. Now I have to bite my other hand to keep from screaming, the pain is so intense. Oh god, that was quite the fall. How high up was I, anyways? Must've been pretty high, because my arm is crying out in hardcore pain. I think I broke it. And perhaps my wrist. Dammit, I broke my arm. And it's probably the most pathetic way someone could break their arm. No, not in a fight with Ariel. No, not fending off a carnivorous wolf. But _falling out of a tree. _Shit.

I see if I can move it, but it feels numb. It hangs limply at my side. My good arm, too. The arm I hold my martial arts stick with. Getting to and from the Cornucopia seems like a much bigger challenge than it did before, with one mildly good arm and one that doesn't appear to want to do anything to help me out.

But I have to survive. I know that. So I start looking around for that waterfall again.

**Bambi's POV**

Final eight. This is how it feels to be in the final eight. I feel… great. Fantastic. Invincible Like I could go and walk through the desert without any water.

I got over Trafford's death by nightfall—watching him kill that Five gave me a horrible pang inside. Ugh. And I thought I was prepared for these Games.

But now, since the three of us abandoned Alexander and Ariel earlier, I'm alone. I sleep alone in that hollow tree, set up a few traps that Trafford taught me to make to catch food, and catch some animal I've never seen in my life. It's the size of my forearm, long and skinny like a snake but with four legs. Its teeth are pointy. I'm glad I caught it before it caught me.

It's made of bright colors, but I eat it anyways. I'm starved.

And then in the morning, I find a stream that harbors fresh water. How did we not catch this before? My throat dry, I lunge in to scoop up some of the water with my palms, savoring the cool sensation in my hands, but then pouring it straight into my mouth.

Which I promptly spit out. What in the world? I stare down at my hands. They're covered in mud. I touch around my mouth, coming back with more mud. I look down at the fresh water stream and find mud, mud mud, no water.

I shake my head and use leaves to wipe the rest of the mud off my face and hands. It suddenly seems like I'm dreaming, like none of this is real. Am I dreaming? Or is it reality? I distinctly taste the mud in my mouth, and poke myself. No, it isn't a dream. Well I don't think it is, at least.

I need to get a hold of myself, of my thoughts, so I take some deep breaths. But I can't get that feeling out of my head. Like this all isn't real.

It's frustrating. So frustrating, I have the urge to pull my hair out and kick and scream and punch the air, but I just rake my fingers through my hair, realizing that my forehead has gotten very hot. I tie my hair up off my neck with a vine. What's happening? I feel nauseous. And the mud has turned into water again, and now it's a moving sea of… spiders.

Oh my god, oh my god. I back up, trying to get away from these spiders. Spiders. Oh my _god_, spiders. I hate spiders, I really do. Eight legs and hairy and the creepiest eyes—and, and they're after me. Every single one of them. I hear myself screaming and thrashing as they pin me down to the ground; they crawl into my ears and my mouth and up my legs and through my hair; there's too many to count. One is on my nose, staring straight into my eyes, the size of my hand, with those tiny hairs on its body sticking up. I scream more.

The spiders cover my eyes, and my vision is blinded. They go into my ears, and I can't hear any more. They're down my throat, the lot of 'em, so I can't breathe.

Suffocating, I black out.

**Alexander's POV**

Cheyenne is completely healed. Her burns have faded into a tan, and she's capable of moving like she did before. I don't know what this means for me now. Now that she doesn't need someone catching her food and someone to take care of her and apply aloe Vera plant. But when I wake up in the morning after the eventful day of Trawny, Ebony and Trafford dying, she's standing above me triumphantly.

"What?" I say, blinking. I rub sleep from my eyes and give a quick fix to my hair—have to look decent.

"I caught something," she says, pushing some of her own hair behind an ear.

"What?" I repeat.

"Come see, then!" She helps me up out of my bed of leaves—we may be getting a little too confident by sleeping right on the ground in the open, but oh well—and over behind some trees where a gorilla's carcass is lying. It looks exactly like those ones that we ran into with the bananas, where Nicole died. It's freaking huge. How did Cheyenne catch this?

"How the fuck?" I mutter. I'm still half-asleep, hungry and thirsty, and apparently Cheyenne has caught a monkey two times my size.

"Its hand got caught in one of our traps, so I threw a knife at its head and it fell and I killed it!" She sounds so excited I don't tell her that I have no idea how we're going to cook and eat it. _If_ we're going to cook and eat it, for that matter. I just nod and reach over, draw the knife out of the thing's head; wipe it off on my pant leg. The knife was a gift from a sponsor. Small, yeah, but skinning animals to eat without one is extremely difficult.

"We need to do something with it," I tell her. "Before scavengers come and draw attention to us. Or…" I think of how Nicole got ripped to shreds because she refused to give the monkey her bananas. Out of all the ways to die, that has to probably be the stupidest dying move in the history of the Games. Or close to it. "Or before its family comes."

Cheyenne nods. "What are you suggesting we do?"

"I don't have a—fudging clue." I resist swearing. Cheyenne doesn't seem to like it when people full-out cuss in front of her. And the word _fudge_ has always been a great replacement for the other word. "Either we cut it up into tiny pieces, eat some of that, and then leave, or we can just leave and cover our tracks."

She pauses. "Well… a gorilla is kind of like us, biologically or whatever, isn't it? Like, human? Almost?"

"You think I pay attention in that class?" I ask. "That's where I catch up on sleep."

"I think it is." She skims her fingers on its soft, grey fur. "I wouldn't feel right eating it."

She wouldn't feel right eating it. The girls at home who train for the Games—some like Ariel—those ones that hit on me all the time—say that if they have to, they'll resort to cannibalism. I went on this date with this one chick, Marcy Greene, to dinner at her place with her parents. And, just for any future reference, she was the one to ask me out.

All night her mother talked to me about Finnick, but then again everyone does, and her father talked to me about how Marcy was going to go out and win the Games. Marcy volunteered for the Hunger Games last year. She ate a girl's arm, bit off a guy's ear and ate his eyeball, and cut out a finger bone from the buff eighteen-year old from Eleven and kept it in her backpack as a good luck charm. In the end some twelve year old from District Two took her out in hand-to-hand combat. Pretty fucking humiliating if you ask me.

But Cheyenne's the total opposite of Marcy. She's the opposite of all the girls back home, too, that I would even consider dating. Not that Cheyenne and I are _dating_ or anything, I'm just saying. While they're harsh and have no actual emotion for the guys they go out with until they come back as victors, she's gentle and, once you gain her trust, caring. And we've talked a little more. About why we're here, in the Games, and I've discovered that she volunteered for her brother's pregnant fiancé, and that a few of her family members have died because of the Games. Including her sister.

She's not only the opposite of the girls back home—she's the opposite of _me_. I have Finnick; she has her sister, who hardly made it past the first few days in the arena. I have a mother and father who own the biggest fishing boat company in all of District Four; she has a brother that helps the rest of her family scrape by by manufacturing plastic all week. She likes oranges; I like apples.

Sometimes I wonder how we're starting to get along so well.

**Ariel's POV**

Where in the goddamned world _is_ everyone? I've wandered for days, just to find out that I missed out on three kills. The District Eleven squirt, the District Two guy who left the stronger career pack the first day, and the puny girl from Five. Doesn't surprise me. Weakest go first.

As I chop down a tree for fun with my sword, I smell it. Blood. Fresh blood. Not wasting a minute, I dash in the direction of the smell. It wafts into my nose and I breathe it in like one of the other tributes would breathe in the smell of maple syrup and pancakes after eating edible plants for days, when I break through the trees and see the source of the blood. It's accompanied with the smell of dead, decaying tissue. I swear.

It's a gorilla. It's lying on the ground while a wolf nibbles on its hand. Damn thing, this gorilla's mine. Before it can notice me I walk over and chop its head clean off with one strike of my sword, blood gushing from the decapitated neck and making the ground crimson. I breathe this in, too, while skinning the pelt off the wolf—I'm still thinking about what to do with the gorilla, so I'll put him aside for later.

Once all the fur is off, I wipe the blood away with mud and my hands and leaves and wrap my fingers around the edges, measuring it compared to me. I then carve two holes in the far side, cut off the excess meat, and, although it's heavy I'm stronger, so I tug it up and pull the vest around me. It may be not the most stylish piece of clothing in the world, but the raw skin underneath the fur tells anyone who sees me I did this myself. That I can do it to them, too, if they dare me to.

I head back over to the gorilla. What to do with this bastard? I want to make it good.

I don't know where to start so I just decapitate him like the wolf and lift his head off the ground. Then I carefully put it back down. As I'm standing up again, I see a wound on the roof of the head. It's human-made, a straight line, thin and deep. Could be what caused the death. But, that doesn't matter. What does is that it's human-made. With a knife, I'm guessing. It was thrown, not directly stabbed.

The smell of blood, seconds ago, because of this gorilla was fresh. _Fresh._ Whoever killed it must have immediately left. Couldn't have been more than an hour ago.

My mouth thirsts. My hands clench. I can still catch whoever it was.

Quickly, I cut off one of the gorilla's remaining fingers and carve until I get to the bone. I saw the girl from District Four do this last year, but with a human. If I ever get the chance I will do the same, but for now this beast will have to do.

I cut a hole through the bone and put it on a vine. I tie this around my neck.

I am ready to kill.


	47. Like An Avox

**A/N:**** The next chapter… it's going to be pretty intense. That's all I'm really going to say.**

**Unless I decide to write all night tonight I'm not sure if it will be up until… Sunday-ish, because ****my brother has his communion tomorrow and my little cousins have theirs Sunday, and I'm being forced into both.**

**Thanks to the people who read**** my other fanfic, Hollow (:**

**R****eview? (: **

**Mara's POV**

For all my life, I've been known as the girl who everyone likes but nobody's really friends with. I have a few closer friends and all. Just not a whole group of them, like my sister Tarha does. She brings home guys for 'study dates' all the time and girls who give her advice on her clothing and her hair and charcoal makeup. Charcoal is the only thing we can afford. And even that's pushing it, when I have to sign up for tesserae.

But, my sister, I'm starting to miss her. I lie awake at night sometimes when Krow's on watch and I'm supposed to be asleep, thinking about that Reaping morning, wondering if I should've apologized. But then I conclude it wasn't my fault, she started it, drift off to sleep, and the cycle happens the next night.

"Mara," she had said, looking around her bedside table. "Where's my charcoal?"

I looked down at the egg I was cooking on the stove. It was a special day, we got a special breakfast. That was the rule for Reaping day in our family. The borderlines that hadn't been set out were what would pay for that special breakfast.

"Tarha, we're doing badly," I said. "Even with the tesserae I bring home. I sold your charcoal. I sold it to the merchants that live a block a way, because we barely have enough to keep the water going. And I had some extra so I bought the egg we're all about to enjoy."

There was a silence. The crackling of the egg cooking on the years-old frying pan. My mother was outside in the shed in the back where we keep the sewing machine, making some dresses for work, and she wouldn't have to witness what was about to happen between her two daughters.

"_Bitch!_" Tarha had cried. "Why would you sell what makes me _me?_ I look _ugly_, _hideous_ without that stuff, Mara! You know that I—"

"Well I've already sold half my wardrobe!" I exclaimed. "You won't let me sell anything of yours. Mom is already sleeping on the couch. And you don't _work!_ If you don't want to help out around here a little more then maybe you should move out."

Upon those words, she stormed over to the stove and pointed down at the egg. "You used my charcoal to buy _this?_"

"Yes, half of it. The other half went to our water."

She reached over, picked up the egg, and shoved the whole thing into her mouth, chewing barbarically and spitting bits on the ground. "Then I'll take what I earned, thank you very much!"

So I slapped her. I've never slapped anyone, especially not my own sister, in my life, but slapping her then made me feel a mixture of emotions. It made me feel horrible. It made me feel secure. It made me feel glad that I had stood up for myself. "Get some tesserae," I whispered harshly, "support our family, or get out of the house."

She chose the latter, at that point, stomping out and slamming the door, yelling back at how she didn't give a rat's ass if I got reaped for the Games and went off to die. I'm sure she went back there after the Reaping, though. Back home, I mean. I doubt her or my mother could live off on their own, especially while their main source of food and income is off in a jungle somewhere far, far away.

We never really patched things up. But I've long gone forgiven her. I just hope she's done the same for me.

—

Krow and I have eaten berries, birds, and roots and plants. And we've talked about every subject that has ever existed. School, friends, family, love, the Games, the Capitol versus the districts, if Cheyenne and Connor are alive, past Reapings, the moon and the stars, what's beyond Panem, the ocean, our past, our future (what's left of one, anyways), books we've read, and how different our two district are from each other. His is full of people dying of starvation, of people dying in coal mines. Mine is full of well-off people—everyone besides my own family is doing well, and that's only because my father died and left the remaining money to my dying grandmother, who then left it to her step-grandchildren, on the other side of the family. And nobody in my family has ever really been a talented seamstress—what normally brings in the cash in District Eight.

"I hate my life," Krow says. "I love my family, and my friend Tylan. But I hate my life." His voice goes so low the cameras won't be able to pick it up. "And I hate the Capitol for not helping anybody."

I nod. I don't have to stay silent, though. They've no idea what I'm agreeing to. "Me too."

We sit in silence, Krow carving a branch that's about the size of a knife, and as sharp as one, and me braiding my hair to keep it out of my face. I just kind of realized it's always in the way. When Krow sees this he smiles, but doesn't say anything, and goes back to the branch.

**Odyss's POV**

The trap I lay out catches a muttation of the Capitol. I forget exactly what it's called, the name is too long and hard to pronounce, reptilian-something, but I know that the bright colors mean that it is poisonous and its snake-like form seems familiar. I think this is the one the Capitol made during the rebellion and put out into the wild, in the mountains, where the rebels were hiding. They were hoping that the creatures would either kill them off by biting them or they would eat them, the poisonous things.

They're sneaky, too. Just not very bright.

I cut it into very small pieces. Doing it makes me feel like I have a little more power than I actually do have. It feels like, for a moment, I'm defying the Capitol, by torturing and slicing this thing they created to kill me.

And then the feeling's gone when I remember where I am.

I'm walking through the jungle, looking for the other traps I set out yesterday, when I hear a scream. Hard to tell who. Nobody I've allied with or anything, so it could be dangerous. But I grasp the spear in my hand and go to check it out, anyways. The Capitol probably wants some more bloodshed.

Another short, loud scream, that is cut off by a gurgling noise. It's coming from a clearing up ahead. I could turn back now, if I wanted to, and head in the opposite direction and stay safe from whoever this is—but I refuse to be a coward. So I get down closer to the ground and bit by bit make my way to the clearing.

Once I catch a sight of the screaming person I realize she will be no threat—I'm the threat, in this situation. First of all, Bambi isn't even conscious. She's lying on her back on the ground; eyes closed, while every so often one of her limbs jerks into the air and she screeches for a moment, a yell that is in the middle of suffering and being petrified, and then goes silent for about a minute. I stare at the javelin in my hand. I think back to Ebony's lifeless form. Helpless. Like Bambi.

I can't kill her.

But I don't necessarily have to help her, either…

Do I?

**Violet's POV**

I make it to the waterfall in one piece. I haven't run into many tributes, so the Gamemakers must be planning something. I strap on my backpack and leave my stick at the edge of the cliff—there're more weapons down there. I stare at the water coming out of the cave wall, rushing back down the rocky steep. What if I die this time?

Oh well. It was bound to happen eventually.

I jump.

—

Once I'm in the small pond that holds the Cornucopia, I realize maybe this wasn't the best idea with a broken arm. Swimming and holding handfuls of medical supplies isn't as easy as it might sound, especially when you have one arm and two legs to accomplish everything. So the first thing I grab is the medical tape and bandages, which I use to wrap around my wrist and the broken part of my arm, so it isn't flopping around everywhere when I'm trying to swim or walk or run.

Then I dive back down and, unfortunately, there isn't another martial arts stick. But there's a long sword that I think I could manage, it's about the same size and weight, so I lug that up behind me, followed with another water-proof backpack full of dried fruits. I wolf those down in seconds and go back for more.

A fresh bottle of water, with another compartment in its side that holds drops of iodine. Another pack of strips of beef. Medicine that will ease the pain of my broken bone, and any further headaches I may have. A curved knife, just in case something happens to the sword, tucked into my belt loop. And a bottle of sunscreen. I pack it all in along with some more dried fruit and lotion that helps sunburn, pull the backpack on my back, and sit on the ledge with my belly full.

My belly hasn't been full for _days._ And I missed that feeling.

And now all I can do is wait for the wave to rise.

Night falls, and the anthem plays. I don't see any faces in the sky so there were no deaths today—I think this is the first day that there hasn't been a death—and I nibble a little on a piece of dried pear. I never really get fruits, back in District Eleven. It's usually vegetables, crab apples that grow in my backyard, bread and meat. My dad knows someone that owns the butchery down the road, so there's no shortage on pig or deer in our home.

I groan and lean back onto the rock. It's gonna be a long night.

**Cheyenne's POV**

Alexander gives me a piggy-back through the desert because I tell him my ankle is sore. I'm too tired to resist as he lifts me up and onto his back, so I lean my head in the crook between his neck and shoulder and wind my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist. I'm tired—there's a good chance I'll fall asleep, we've been walking for hours, and I don't want him slowing down because of a dead weight on his back.

He's nice, Alexander. Cocky, but nice.

"Out of everything in the world," he says, and we've finally reached the other side of the jungle, "what do you want the most?"

I think for a moment. What _do_ I want? Well, right now I would be happy to go home; even if I didn't receive a house in Victor's Village. Right now I just want safety. Security. Invulnerability. The things that are never guaranteed during these Games.

But they say you always want what you can't have.

"Home," I say simply, sliding off Alexander's back and landing on the jungle ground. "I want home."

**Alexander's POV**

I let Cheyenne go to sleep first while I take watch, because she looks really tired. And sometimes I like watching her sleep. She's peaceful, breathing slowly, her limbs and hair sprawled around her. I want moments like this to last, rather than moments of fighting, of violence, of… of the Games.

And that's coming from me. Pretty deep, ain't it?

"Alexander, Alexander."

My hand goes to my knife in my belt but she's already pinned me to the ground, black hair tickling my face and eyes bloodshot, her sword wide and curved and catching what little light is streaming down from above. I take a glance over at Cheyenne, on the other side of the tree I'm lying beside. She's out of sight from this angle. Maybe if I'm quiet she won't wake up.

"Hey hot stuff, long time no see." I can't take Ariel down without a weapon when she's brandishing a sword the size of one of my legs. It'd be futile to pretend otherwise. So I'll just go with my last hope: flirtation.

Her red eyes roll around. "Don't try that with me, Alexander. Not after leaving me in my sleep. Not after—"

"Ariel," I say with a sigh. There goes my last hope. "Look, I don't want to hear your little chit chat. If you're going to kill me, get it over with already. The Capitol must be on the edge of their seats, no?" Looking her up and down, from the fur vest to the tiny bone hanging around her neck, I sigh again, like I pity her. "You've gone insane, haven't you?"

I remember Marcy. Eating a girl's arm before the girl was dead. I don't think Ariel would be that crazy, but she's almost there. A couple more steps. If she's planning on killing me right now—which I think she is—it's going to be the most painful, agonizing moments I have ever been through. I try and prepare myself for this, getting comfortable on the jungle ground.

"I'm not insane," she says firmly. But anyone who took one look at this girl would probably say otherwise. "I'm just participating in the Hunger Games. I'm playing by the rules, Alexander." Her voice sets into a whisper. "Something you should have done a while ago, and maybe you wouldn't be in this position right now."

I won't cry out, I decide, once she starts the torture. I won't wake Cheyenne because if I do either Ariel will realize she's also here and kill her too, or Cheyenne will try and help. And end up getting killed. There is no way she could take down Ariel without a weapon, and, from what she's told me she can't do hand-to-hand combat. Maybe Cheyenne will survive, and, _maybe_, win.

Just before the pain begins I spit on Ariel's face, clamp my mouth shut, and stare up at my district partner with a more menacing stare I gave her the day of the Reaping, walking up to that stage.

**Cheyenne's POV**

I wake up to a bird landing on my chest and chirping loudly right in my face, pecking at my chin. Shooing it off, I sit up and stretch, yawning. It must be nearly morning—the sky is brightening up—and I don't remember Alexander awakening me to take watch. And, sure enough, on the other side of the tree I see his two arms are above his head and his eyes are closed. He fell asleep, I think. Why didn't he just wake me up?

But as I walk over to him, it's clear that that isn't the case. His chest, his legs, his throat are all covered with scratches. Blood is pooled around his body. As I take a step closer, I can see inside his mouth his entire row of bottom teeth are missing. I feel like screaming, but don't. Instead I rush over to him and take his face in my hands, feeling his chest for a heartbeat.

It's there. Faint, but there.

"Alexander," I whisper. "Alexander."

His eyes open abruptly and he looks like he's about to say something, but then scrunches his face up in pain. "What?" I ask. "What—" But then he opens his mouth, as if an explanation, and I see he has no tongue. Like an Avox.

All of this happened to him and I slept right through it. I slept right through his torture. I feel my heart enter my stomach and my eyes beginning to fill, but I wipe them furiously and stare at him. "You're not going to die. Hold on. Please, hold on, for me."

He shakes his head. I can tell he wishes to say more, maybe to explain, but he just goes on and moves his head, smiles at me. That smile kills me.

"C'mon!" I look at the sky, now. "HELP! HELP!"

But he touches my arm, letting me know that it's worthless. That there is no point in calling for sponsors, because basically, he's as good as dead. He knows it, and I know it, I just don't believe it. He saved my life. More than once. I'd be dead if it wasn't for him, I _owed_ him, and what did I do? I slept through his pain. I slept through his death. I slept when I could have gone ahead and helped him.

But… then again, wouldn't his screams wake me up? I was just feet away the entire time. Wouldn't the _struggle_ have woken me up? Unless there was no struggle, unless he let that person do what they wanted to him, because I was just feet away, sleeping, the whole length of it.

I collapse. I cry. I cry because I know that, once again, he saved my life. And what have I done for him? Absolutely nothing. I've done shit for him the Games.

And yet he smiles at me

"I'm sorry," I say, my hands over my mouth. This is my fault. This is all my fault. Everything is my fault. And, now, I have no way to repay him. He's going to die here. He's going to die, in pure pain, his tongue cut out, because of me. A girl he's never met up until these Games. "I'm sorry." Then I look at the sky. To his family. Hopefully they realize I mean it to them. "I'm sorry."

He touches my arm again, and, out of instinct, I lean in and kiss him.

I've never kissed a boy before. I've had a boyfriend, but I never felt I was ready to kiss him or anything. But, when I kiss Alexander, it's… nice. I don't remember that he doesn't have a tongue, or that his teeth are missing, I just know that it sends weird tingles through me. But they're pleasant, these tingles. I don't want them to stop, though they do, when Alexander pushes me away. I'm about to apologize again but he shakes his head for a last time, smiles, shuts his eyes, and his cannon shoots.

And it's only once I've cried myself out, there can't possibly be anymore tears left behind my eyes, that I set out to find his killer.


	48. Told You So

**A/N: ****You guys better love me. Two updates in a day. (:**

**All right. ****Well, here we go.**

**Brace yourself.**

**Bambi's POV**

I wake up to see the guy that killed Trafford standing above me, shaking me and telling me to throw up. The hell? Throw up? Why in the world would he want me to throw up? He's saying something about poison, but I can barely hear him, he sounds like he's yelling down a tunnel at me. And why is his hair made of snakes?

First spiders, now snakes. The word poison echoes in my mind.

I kneel over to the side and sick my finger down to the back of my mouth. The vile taste arises in my throat, and then onto the ground, the stench so strong and sickening it itself makes me puke up whatever's left in my stomach, over and over again until there's nothing remaining.

Defeated and tired, I lean back onto the ground and everything goes black again.

…

**Violet's POV**

The water splashing over the sides of the ledge is what brings me to consciousness. Immediately, I make sure my backpack is over my shoulders and my sword straight in my hand, and then the water begins to lift me up.

…

**Ariel's POV**

"_Don't go into the Games," Phoenix tells me, wrapp__ing his own calloused hands in my moisturized, soft ones. "Ariel, stay with me. We can grow up together, get married, have a family—"_

_ Phoenix is the most attractive boy my age in District Four, and that's the main reason why I agreed to go out with him.__ Everyone else wants him, but they can't have him, because I do. I have _everything_ they want. Plus, he's a fantastic kisser. Though, I would never tell him any of this, because whatever he's great at I'm more than positive I'm better. _And_ more attractive._

_ "I'm going, Phoenix," I tell him, ripping my hand from his. "If you try and stop me you're going to get hurt. And don't bring up the whole growing up together, married with kids bit, all right? You're just going to get hurt in the end." Which, I admit to myself, I don't exactly mind. Maybe I shouldn't have warned him. I want to see him hurt, just a little._

_ "But Ariel, please, you're the only one I love…"_

_ I wave my hand in the air, like it will make his love for me go away. "Puh-lease, Phoenix. I'd rather have fame and fortune than you, okay? Now leave, because I must get prepared for the Reaping." He stays where he is, sitting on my window seat, and I roll my eyes and groan. Fine. _

_ Pretending he has left, I go over to my dresser and begin to powder my face. White dust fills the air. Then I use charcoal on my eyelids and sparkles over top of it, along with a few other things that only enhance my beauty, unlike the other girls, who seek to hide what little they have. Phoenix stays where he is on my windowsill, watching as I run a brush through my hair. _

_"I need to change," I inform him, and begin to unzip the side of my nightgown, revealing my underwear. Phoenix finally stands up, shaking his head and mumbling something about not wanting to try, but I don't stop him. He's right. I _don't_ want to try. He isn't worth it._

_Besides, we have different dreams. I dream of killing. Of vicious murder. He dreams of family, of children. _

_ And__, when I think about it, how could I, someone who is about to be ripping many to shreds, possibly love another?_

—

Look at me now, Phoenix, I want to say. Would you want to marry _this? _A murderer? Would you be able to see your children raised in the same way _this _was? I doubt once I get back to my district any boy will have the same feelings they did before I left—they won't see Ariel, the very attractive girl who trains for the Games. They'll see Ariel, inhuman, merciless Ariel, who tortured her fellow district partner during the Hunger Games.

What I haven't figured out yet—which is strange, because usually I have everything figured out—is if this is a good or bad thing.

…

**Cheyenne's POV**

I run through the trees, having nothing to follow, but imagining I do. If I were a killer, which way would I go? If I were seeking to torture, what would I do next?

Of course, I already know who did it. I doubt Krow or Mara or Odyss or even Violet or Bambi would go ahead and torture Alexander, the way he was. I doubt they would aim to bring so much pain to one particular person. Really, there is only one person in this competition that would want to make Alexander into an Avox. And I think we _all _know who that person is.

I break into an even faster sprint when it starts to rain. Thunder makes the ground rumble. Either something is going on at the other side of the arena, or I'm getting close to Ariel, the Gamemakers telling me not to give up yet. Keep going. The Capitol wants to see blood. I assume the latter option and race faster, swifter, jumping over roots and crashing through vines with the knife Alexander and I got sent from a sponsor. It may be no match against Ariel. But I will be. In this state, with the vision of the hovercraft coming and taking Alexander's body away, Ariel is about to meet _more_ than her match.

I've been running for who knows how long, and still, the District Four is no where to be seen. The rain pours down, soaking me, and the lightning pierces the sky, lighting up the darkened arena with brightness for a few moments, but the girl isn't anywhere within my sight.

"_ARIEL!_" I screech. "_ARIEL, COME OUT HERE AND FACE ME!"_

Unsurprisingly, nobody comes to face me.

"_ARIEEEEL!" _Making her name more syllables than necessary, I shout at the top of my lungs, I'm sure they nearly burst within me, and then start to run again. I've been protected from these Games for too long. I've had two too many people sacrifice themselves, so I can live and carry on. Connor, who was part of my alliance, part of my district, who wanted to get back home for his girlfriend. Alexander, who, and I'll say it, I might've been falling for, just a little bit, and who wanted to get back home to his parents and prove to everyone that he was nothing like Finnick. Nothing at all like the famous victor. But his own person.

Except, I'm not just angry at Ariel for killing him. For making him suffer. Although she is a big part of my overflowing rage, it's me I'm mad at. Me that I want to kill. Me that I want to rip to shreds, because I let terrible, terrible things happen to two people that I cared about. If I were watching myself on the television I would want to knock myself out, here and now. I would want myself to die. Painfully. Look at myself, scoffing, saying how I need boys to hide behind to survive. That's the only reason I've made it to the final eight.

Maybe I do, and maybe it is. And that fills me with more rage.

I continue to run, ignoring the fact that I can barely breathe and I'm completely out of breath, until a lightning bolt strikes right behind me. I lunge out of the way, and it hits the spot I was formerly standing in, burning the grass in that area to a crisp.

But it isn't to kill me, I realize. The Gamemakers wouldn't send deadly lightning after me when I'm in such a killing, bloodthirsty mood. They would send lightning to help me. To guide me to Ariel. So I dodge out of the way of the lightning, over and over, until I weigh three times my normal weight, caked with mud and drenched in water.

And then I see her. Standing right across from me in a clearing, I can see that she's holding a piece of vine and is immersed in threading something onto it. Small and white, I can tell that they're teeth. Teeth. An image of Alexander's toothless mouth enters my mind. A scream of fury bubbles through my throat, escaping and echoing in the clearing, off the tree trunks and mixing in perfectly with the thunder to create just the right amount of terror.

She glances up from her necklace and stares at me for a few seconds, and I use these seconds to regain my breath. Wipe my hand off on a dry patch of ground so I can hold my knife more tightly. Tell myself exactly what I'm about to do.

"Cheyenne!" Her voice is rasp, short. She stands up and behind her, draws a sword the size of my arm. I refuse to look down at my own weapon, the knife the size of two butcher knives combined. Size doesn't matter, I tell myself. Technique does. "Actually, I was kind of waiting for you. I was sure you'd come and find me, eventually, once you figured out I killed your boyfriend."

Two can play at this game. "So you knew I was feet away, the entire time?" I ask. "You could've killed me there, you know. An even bigger show. But you suck at noticing your surroundings, apparently."

She starts walking toward me, twirling the handle of the sword over and through her fingers. "You know what I don't suck at?" Her mouth opens, revealing teeth laced with blood and flesh. But I know, _know,_ this isn't Alexander's. There were no bite marks. I guess she was just too lazy to clean out her latest animal meal. "Murder."

"Good," I say. "Because neither do I. And especially not with a knife."

Ariel lets out a laugh. A deep, sinister laugh that brings unseen goose bumps up my spine. "And you're going to kill me with _that?_"

I look at my knife. "What clued you in on that? The fact that I have no other weapon, or that I _told_ you I was?"

The grin she's had on fades and I can tell she thinks we've exchanged enough words. She leaps, her sword outstretched, but I sidestep and block the attack. Now I dive at her, but she does the exact same thing, knocking my knife off to the side and getting a good slice at my abdomen, slitting my shirt open and the blood starting to flow. Millimeters closer and I would be dead.

A growl arises from her throat and she spins her sword in the air, it spirals between her palms and changes the direction it approaches me at every few seconds, so fast I can hardly tell where it is at any given moment. Following it with my eyes, I give a slice to the right, and the sound of clashing metal joins the thunder and rain pounding the ground.

She holds her sword so it's pushing against my knife and I know that if my blade breaks I'm done for. So I quickly remove my knife and duck, her sword swinging straight over my head and slicing a lock of my wet hair off, and while her body is turned in the opposite direction I manage to get a deep, long gash in her leg, the crimson on the ground from my stomach and her leg almost all already washed away from the rain.

But Ariel recovers fast and is back at trying to decapitate me in seconds, so angry now the swings are getting a little hasty, missing me by inches each time.

I think of Alexander. I think of Connor. I think of how I will never speak to either of them ever again. And, somehow, just as her weapon misses my hip, I block the hit with my knife and turn it instantaneously round and round her sword, causing her to lose her grip, and my knife knocks her sword metres away out of arm's reach. I don't waste any time. I lash out at her chest, hoping to cut deep, but get her left shoulder because she jumps out of the way just in time in the direction of the sword. But the cry she lets out lets me know I've hurt her enough for her ability to fight to be affected.

And knowing that I've injured her, even a tiny part, envelopes me in contentment.

Her hand winds around the sword and thwarts my strike in the knick of time, and she rolls out of the way and onto her knees, slashing at me. I slash back.

But I hear it, then. A definite, consistent rushing of water that isn't the same as the rain, coming from behind the trees on the right side of the clearing. I can tell Ariel hears it, too, and the two of us simultaneously stop fighting, ending in a long block with out weapons pushed up against each other again, to turn and look, just before a wall of water descends on us.

…

**Violet's POV**

I'm expecting to be thrown to the side of the cavern and onto the ground when the water reaches the top, but, instead, I'm thrown straight up into the air, the water pressure building underneath me as I swim through the it like a fish. Except for the part where I don't have gills and I can't exactly breathe without any oxygen.

My arms flail around and I try and force myself up, down, sideways, whichever way I might escape the wave. But I can't. And the weapon and backpack are weighing me down as the water continues to move, so I'm forced to let my sword and backpack sink down. I push a tree out of my way, another one, so I don't hit my head and drown.

Now I'm kicking off trees, slicing myself in the other direction with the sword, attempting to hold my breath for a little longer as I'm pushed with the water, wondering how much longer I can hold on for.

…

**Ariel's POV**

"_Ariel, I love you, don't do this."_

I swim through the water, looking around desperately for the bitch from Three, but seeing nobody.

"_You're too beautiful to die."_

_ "But I'm not going to, dumbass."_

I'm about to give up on looking until the water recedes when someone lands on my back, and I'm thrown deeper under the water.

_"The only person you'll please is your mother."_

_ "I fucking know what I fucking want. And this is fucking it."_

Bubbles rise in the struggle, the struggle to breathe, the struggle to see and fight off this person who's landed on me. And I recognize them immediately. The girl who punched me in the face. And she looks helpless, her limbs in every direction, one of her arms taped to her side. I can take her.

_"No, you don't know what you want. Do you know the chances of you coming back?"_

_ "Phoenix, I'm coming back. I just can't guarantee __we'll be the same when I do."_

The sword feels lighter in my hand because we're under water, but the friction of it compared to just simply air makes it difficult to swing, to move. And the girl is moving too, her face in a panic, dodging each of my slow, pathetic hits.

_"Think of all the other foolish careers who've said the same thing you are, right now."_

_ "They all are__, _were,_ idiots. And I'm not foolish. I wish you would just drop the subject."_

I can see it in her wide eyes—she knows that she's done for. She knows that me with a sword and her without means death. Death under water. A change for the people of the Capitol. A new twist. More entertainment for them, and more interesting for me.

_"I'm not going to drop the subject when your life is on the line."_

_ "My life isn't on the line. There isn't even _a_ line. And what do you care, Phoenix, when the person you love doesn't love you back?"_

I swing the sword, my sword, again at her but only scraping off a good part of her already-injured hand. Her mouth opens, more bubbles come, a silent scream muffled by the water. I feel like I've won when her foot makes contact with my face, sending me back, bashing into a tree.

_"You love me, Ariel. You just don't understand what love is."_

_ "Don't make me angrier than I already am."_

The world around me goes black, just for about a minute. And when I come to, I can breathe. The water has sunk into the ground, moved on, and sweet air fills me. But then I look at my hands. My sword is gone. Panic sets in. Where is my sword? Where the _fuck's_ my sword?

_"I'm making you angry?"_

_ "Furious."_

Almost immediately, I catch sight of it. It's in the hands of the soaking wet District Eleven chick who punched me in the training centre. She's out of breath and the sword looks like it, itself, is about to make her collapse. Almost pitiable. Just almost.

_"How, Ariel? How can I possibly be making you angry?"_

_ "You're distracting me. Soon they're asking for volunteers. I can't be distracted, I can only be focused."_

She looks at me. Then down at my sword. The bitch. Am I going to have to wrestle her for the damn thing? I mean, she may as well just hand it over now. I'll get it somehow, someway, and then she's dead. Dead as my district partner.

_"Good. Maybe I'll distract you enough to give you time to think."_

_ "I've thought enough. Now I have to act. You don't understand that, do you?"_

But before I can react, even speak, she lunges forward with the sword pointed out at my chest and, within seconds, I feel it penetrate my flesh, entering deep. I reach up to take it out but my hand is shaking too much. My mind can't process what's just happened. This is pain. This is real, true pain. Unable to breathe. Unable to move. Throbbing in your veins

_"Don't do this. Stay with me. Please."_

_ "Begging is__ very unattractive. Goodbye, Phoenix."_

It's too much, too much pain. Rain continues to pour, lighting light up the world, thunder shake the ground. The girl looks happy, satisfied even, that she's killed me. But it isn't right. It's backwards. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be the other way around. She was the one whose fate was to die. That was all their fates. All twenty-three of them.

It wasn't supposed to be mine.

_"Ariel, don't, please don't—"_

_ "I volunteer for tribute!"_

My breathing slows. I swear I hear my heart stop beating, my blood stop pulsing, my cannon blow, and Phoenix saying quietly, "I told you so."


	49. Now You're The Sponsors

**Sorry I might've gotten your hopes up by posting this as a chapter. ****It isn't one. Though, I'm a quarter way through the next one, if that means anything—which it probably doesn't, because a quarter of a way is barely half way to half way and all.**

**But I must be boring you now**** with my horrible math skills, so on with what I am posting this for.**

**I got a review asking if you guys could sponsor tributes. ****Well, that spoiled my plan, because I was going to tell you guys final five. Although it's the final six, so same difference, I'm posting this to let you know before the next chapter goes up, that yes you can now sponsor tributes. **

**If you would like to****, leave a review saying what you would like to send to whom. You can send whatever **_**realistically, **_**as in, don't send an canteen that refills itself with water when it empties, or an endless food supply, or a magical bow and arrow that always hits the target. A loaf of bread with cheese or full canteen of water or sheath of arrows will suffice. **

**So, yeah. ****You can send something to whomever you please, whenever you please.**

**Now I'll go continue writing. **


	50. Falling

**A/N: First of all, I'd like to give a thanks**** and to Realityshowfan, Ariel's creator, for taking her character's death and all the Ariel-bashing verrrrry well. Everyone loves to hate Ariel. –Insert round of applause here-**

**Second of all, ****if your gift to a tribute has not been yet received, it will be soon. It's kinda backed up right now. xD**

**Lastly, I'm starting to get attached to these characters and let me tell you, killing them off has not been easy.**** Especially not in the final six. Blech. Keep that in mind.**

**And… yeah. On with the story!**** Even if the chapter may be a tad slow.**

**Krow's POV**

Since both of the Fours have died in one day, nothing has happened, besides the fact I received a pickaxe from a sponsor—kind of like the one I use in the mines some times, heavy and dangerous and fits in my palm like a charm. I haven't got to using it, though; it's been two full, boring days with no deaths; two days that Mara and I have sat around eating those berries and playing that berry game. Really, the Capitol must be getting bored. There must be something coming.

"What do you think?" Mara asks me. "Natural disaster to kill or to push us together? This seems like a pretty big arena, after all."

I consider it. "Both," I decide. "What do you think the disaster will be? I'm going to say… hmm. A tornado or twister."

"Hurricane," Mara says with a mouth full of colorful berries. "Definitely hurricane."

And as if on cue, the pasty clouds in the sky turn to dark, gloomy ones, and far in the distance I hear thunder. We stare at the clouds for a few seconds before it begins to pour, and we start to move in the opposite direction of these clouds. Trees and lightning aren't really that great of a mix, if you ask me.

"The desert?" Mara questions.

"The desert," I confirm.

…...

**Cheyenne's POV**

I've never been angrier at myself in my life. Not when I was running through the jungle, thinking over what Connor and Alexander did for me, looking for Ariel. Not when I was leaning over Alexander's dead body, crying. Not when I saw that his tongue had been cut out. Only now, knowing that I had my chance to kill Ariel and that chance slipped right through my fingers like grains of sand.

_Right through my fingers. _

It begins to rain like that day both of the Fours died, and I pick at my bow and arrow, which fell from the sky not too long ago. Twelve arrows—though now it's ten; I lost two when I was hunting; they got wedged in an animal's leg and that animal got away—tucked safely in a sheath, along with a bow made out of the best material practicable; I've been admiring it to say the least. Must of cost a fortune—at least a month's worth of food. Turning away from the weapon for once, I stare at the canopy of leaves directly above me, at the way the rain drops slip off and plunge to the ground. I get lost in this pattern for a few minutes until I'm disrupted by thunder.

The lightning that the Gamemakers sent after me last time was purely helpful. I can't say that they're looking to help me much any more, especially after that lame exit—which I'm assuming is what killed Ariel, the wave—so I stand up and sling my arrows over my back and start to walk. Where to, I'm not sure. But who knows? Maybe I can outrun the storm. Maybe—probably not—probably meaning impossibly—but there must be a positive side. There's always a positive side.

Almost always, anyways.

…

**Bambi's POV**

I wake up to that District Five sticking a syringe into my arm. He's just pushing down the plunger when I come to, and I immediately scream and swat it away from my arm. I hazily remember something about poison. Poison. He's poisoning me! Where he managed to get his hand on the syringe, I'm not sure, but I stand up and begin backing away, and he's saying something to me, but there's a black liquid pouring from his mouth, which he doesn't seem to notice at all.

It isn't blood. It's too thick. Too black. Black as the sky at night without the moon or the stars. And it's coming out faster, now, and more of it, too. But he still doesn't notice. He goes on talking to me. "Listen to me," he says. "Don't freak out. That was from a sponsor. I'm trying to—"

"Get away!" I screech. It's repulsing, that liquid, whatever it is. So disgusting I stop to vomit up whatever's in my stomach, but it doesn't seem to have a lot inside nonetheless, so I turn and run to the jungle, wondering how much of the poison is in my system. Will I die slowly? Quickly? Will I see the signs before? Or will it just happen?

_Death. _

The word rings through my mind. I wouldn't be dead, dying, if it wasn't for the Hunger Games. The awful Hunger Games. But, what _is_ death? Something Lilly experienced, at least.

_Lilly. _

Her name makes me think twice about regretting volunteering for the Games. Lilly, who died on live television, torn apart limb by limb, piece by piece, by that monster that you can't even classify as a human. I'm not sure if you could go as far as calling them a living being when they don't have a heart.

I run away from the clearing with the Five in it until I come across a small pond. Salt water, but I use it to clean my face and hands off, because for some reason they're smothered in dried mud. My stomach growls and my throat twinges, and, as I take a look at my reflection in the water, I realize that whatever beauty I had had before the Games has been lost. My hair is stringy, frizzy, and stuck together with mud. My eyes are bloodshot and my cheek bones are too prominent against my ghostly white skin. The asset that has kept me going through my years of training is lost. What do I have now?

The mud in my hair is washed away in a few moments from the salt water, but I can't do much of anything else about the rest. It's merely a lost cause.

Despite what I thought earlier, regret grows within me. Strong regret. I know I did this for Lilly, but if I don't come out of it as victor, what exactly was the point? The point of throwing years and years of my life away?

Nothing. There would be no point.

—

"_I know this is sudden," he says to me, __and I can feel that he's uncomfortable. "But would you like to have dinner with me some time?"_

_Some time. See, when someone says _some time_ you can't just downright turn them down. You can't say, "Oh, damn, Saturday? Sorry, but I have a family function." Because when they say _some time_ it could mean any time. And even this _any time_ is too uncertain for me—I don't have an instant to be going out to shallow dinners when that instant I could master the bow and arrow, or throwing knives. So I make it simple for him, hoping that if I'm petty now he won't come back, like all the others. _

_ "No," I__ say. For a moment he looks perplexed. I doubt any girl has ever turned him down before, but I've never not turned down a guy. "Sorry. But no." I look back down to the textbook on District Twelve that's opened on my desk. And he stands there for a second, but then the misunderstanding switches to humiliation and he shakes his head and walks away back to his own assigned seat._

—

A silver parachute lands on my lap as I wring out my hair, and I unravel it to find another syringe. It looks identical to the one Odyss was sticking in my arm… but my mentor wouldn't send me poison. For a moment I'm confused, but I use it anyways, pushing down the plunger slowly and feeling the substance pierce my bloodstream.

…

**Odyss's POV**

My gaze stays on the basket of apples. There were five when it landed, but that's now reduced to three. I ate both. Bambi ran away before I could explain, before she could eat or drink anything, and before I could get the entire liquid from the syringe into her blood system. There's about half still left, but I tuck it away for later just in case I run into her again or need it myself.

"All right," I say to nobody in particular. Since Ebony died, and I've been alone, I've felt isolated. Very isolated. And talking to myself seems to help, knowing that Jacklyn is watching back home, listening to my words herself. "What are you going to do next?" I think for a minute. What _am_ I going to do next? "Well, you're not hungry. Or thirsty. Do you want to stay put or keep going?" I think about this, too. Do I _want_ to keep moving? Where do I have to move to? The desert? "You don't want to go to the desert. You're fine where you are. Just stay here."

I stay, plopped down on the jungle ground with the homemade javelin in my hand and feet in a balanced position, just in case I need to get up and fight or escape at any time. But I don't eat—I save the three apples and additional loaf of bread for later. Knowing that at some point I will have a stomach full of fruit and bread gives me a strange, warm feeling inside, and I keep my eyes open for any other tributes that might be passing by.

"It's going to rain," I tell myself. The clouds are dark and not fluffy in the least. Thin, slender lines that streak across the grey sky. "Maybe storm."

Storm. Meaning lightning. Meaning, I'm going to die if I stay here, perched under a tree when lightning is close. I sigh, realizing that I only have two other choices besides the jungle: desert or beach. Two completely unlike choices. "But you need to decide fast, before it gets too dark!"

If I go to the beach there's a bigger chance of a storm. Tidal waves and all. But the desert there's a bigger chance of other tributes, hiding out in the sand, where there are no high points where the lightning won't reach them. The beach, however, has a cliff _higher_ than some of those trees. "Well, Odyss, would you rather die by lightning or by another tribute?"

Another tribute, I think. I'd rather go down fighting than get electrocuted by a measly bolt of man-made electricity.

…

**Violet's POV**

I punched her in the face and stabbed her with a sword. Even though her face was in the sky, I'm scared. Oh hell, I'm scared. She haunts me whenever I close my eyes. Her face emerging through the water, black hair swirling around her like the snakes of Medusa, a shining sword in her hand. Even when I'm not fully asleep I see her. I see her with the sword through her chest, growling at me during her last moments of life, and if looks could kill, man, then I would have died many, many times by now.

I'm scared I'm going to open my eyes one morning and she'll be there standing above me with her sword pointed at me. And she'll say, "It's your turn now, Eleven," right before I die the same way she did.

My heart beats whenever I enter a new section of jungle. What if she's up in one of those trees, waiting? Waiting to attack? Waiting to kill? Waiting to torture?

I've gotten a loaf of bread laced with seeds that's still warm when I lift it from the parachute. It's from District Eleven. Many people must have put together their money to send this one loaf. And a splint for my arm arrives shortly after, my mentor giving me a silent message that killing Ariel is really bringing in the money. But it doesn't console me. I still see her face. Her ominous, looming face in the back of my mind, teeth barred and eyes just slits in her head and—

A drop of rain hits the roof of my head. I escape from my thoughts, coming to reality. Rain. I'll start walking, now then, I guess.

Walk, walk, left right, don't turn around and look over your shoulder because she could be lurking there. Don't look up. Or even down. Look straight ahead and walk, walk, left, right. Left, right. Left, right.

…

**Mara's POV**

We arrive in the jungle just thirty minutes after coming to the decision where we were heading. We couldn't have been too far off to start with. As soon as we step foot out of the trees, the rain stops soaking the two of us, and, when I get a better look at our surroundings as we head farther out—or in, depending on how you look at it—I observe that the Gamemakers have made it so the storm is only hovering above the jungle. The desert's skies are a dazzling blue, sparkling with bulbous white clouds that hang above us like one of those soft comforters that are full of feathers, and I just want to go ahead and curl right up in one and never come out. But, I can't. So I just follow Krow, he seems to have a better sense of direction than myself, until the ground starts vibrating underneath my feet.

The sand is shifting, I think. It looks like it's moving, far off, and a figure is running away from the shifting sand in our direction. I point them out to Krow, who is already in a sprint, but he shakes his head saying how he can't make out who they are and it doesn't matter. We have to keep going.

And he's right, and so we do. We both run across the sand away from the changing specks in the distance. And I think we're making up good time; we're nearly halfway back to the other side of the jungle, when the ground pulses even more and it flat-out disappears beneath my feet, my body pitching downwards, reaching out, and grabbing my last lifeline: Krow.

He pulls me back up and the two of us sprint faster, him slightly ahead of me the whole time, but no matter. Just keep moving.

Neither of us fall down another hole until the sand starts sinking on our other side, too, and soon enough we're surrounded by the sunken holes, my heart beating and my mind sending out a silent message to the Gamemakers not to kill us here, not now, not falling down a deep, dark hole.

"Mara?" Krow asks, but I'm breathing too hard to hear him right. I can see it all happening already. Buried alive. If I fall down one of those holes I'll be buried alive. Buried alive. Buried alive. In a small dark space, unable to breathe, a lack of control, defenselessness. Oh, oh no. That's not right. That can't happen. It simply cannot.

I'm breathing too severely, now, and my head's spinning and my body's convulsing, and Krow's shaking me, trying to get me back to reality. I only see darkness. Me in a small space, sand surrounding me, filling my lungs, everywhere I touch there's sand. I need to get out. I need to—

That's when a sharp pain pierces through my leg, doing what Krow was unable to and compelling me back into the right place and the right time in a desert with cute, puffy clouds and sunlight illuminating them, when my body falls backwards. I reach out for Krow again, reach out for anything, but all I can see are those pretty white clouds, becoming smaller and smaller as I plummet deeper and deeper into the fathomless hole.


	51. Thank You

**Hey everybody. I'm sorry that I haven't been updating as much as I used to, but I'm moving in a month or so and next week I have the rest of my final exams. So I've been studying like there's no freakin' tomorrow and cleaning fifteen years worth of complete crap outta my room. **

**But I'm posting this to tell everybody that I will not be writing until Thursday. After Thursday, though, I'm going full out, and the updates will come just as quickly as they did before.**

**I hope you'll all stick it with me until then (: And thank you to everyone who has stuck with it up until now.**

**You guys are pretty friggin amazing. Thank you.**

**~Chocolatiee**


	52. Suffocated

**A/N****: I'm watching the World Cup as I write this. So I wasn't going to get much studying during this time period done anyways. Germany is playing and I'm pretty into this game, so sorry if the chapter isn't up to par with any of the others.**

**I hope you enjoy it**** and review, possibly, nonetheless (:**

**Some suggested listening for the chapter: **

**Bring me to Life, Evanescence**

**Never Say Never, The Fray**

**Krow's POV**

I watch Mara fall. I reach over to catch her, but it's too late. I was looking at the person who shot the arrow through her leg. I was too busy plastering myself low on the ground, so the arrow wouldn't hit me. Instead, it hit Mara. And sent her dropping down one of the holes in the ground. The ones where I can't even see the bottom, they're so dark and deep.

I stay on the ground and don't dare move as another arrow whizzes past the roof of my head. The person who's shooting them has long hair—that's all I can tell from such a distance away—but that could mean practically anyone from Violet to Bambi to Cheyenne. I stay where I am, hoping it's Cheyenne, hoping she'll recognize me soon enough.

But then I remember Mara and instantly feel terrible for thinking more of myself. A cannon hasn't gone off, so I guess she must be all right for the time being. And I can't do much of anything else until I get to safety. So let's concentrate on that.

The ground has stopped sinking. Now I'm just surrounded by the damage: the holes, the destruction it's left. I crawl my way through the slim pieces of stable ground between the holes, nearly getting hit by two more arrows, when finally I hear a voice yell, "Krow?"

I stop slinking my way across the sand to look up at the person who was trying to kill me only seconds ago. The long hair is like a cape, billowing in the wind, and I can see now that it's a dark brown color. Like Cheyenne's. Her features are distant to me—I can't quite remember what she looks like—but the voice is familiar, like the hair. It's Cheyenne. Cheyenne is alive.

But can I trust her? A lot of crap must have happened, because Connor is nowhere in sight, and she has a bow and arrow. Did she find the Cornucopia? Or was that from a sponsor like my pickaxe was?

I stand up, the pickaxe ready, but not visibly ready, just weighing lightly in my hand, and begin to walk carefully through the slim parts of remaining sand, not wanting to fall down. How far must those holes be? They appear endless from this angle, the blackness nearly overwhelming, frightening. I look up and see Cheyenne smiling at me, placing her bow on the ground, almost like saying, "I come in peace."

So I put my weapon down, as well. "Where's Connor?" is the first thing I say. "Mara and I were stuck in that cave when the anthem played that night."

Cheyenne looks away at the jungle, twiddling her thumbs. "I, uh, got out of the cave," she says slowly, "because of Connor. Long story, but he kinda made sure I got out of there alive by him… not."

I'm not too sure what she means, but by the tears, Connor must be gone. Should I hug her? That's what I would do with my little sisters if they started crying over something—except Cheyenne isn't my little sister. She's older than me, I'm pretty sure. And when she says, "Is Mara all right?" her voice cracks and shakes, and I don't really feel like telling her that she just sent her down a hole with an arrow in her leg. She's already noticeably upset. And informing her she just possibly killed off one of her former allies isn't going to help much with that.

So I go, "I'm not sure. She fell down one of those things." I gesture to the hole.

Cheyenne's face goes paler than it was before, it that's even probable. "Were you just with Mara? Is she the one I shot the arrow at? Is she the one—" But suddenly her voice is cut off by a hiccup, and Cheyenne falls to her knees with her head in her hands, uncontrollable-sounding sobs emitting from her. Awkwardly, I stand there. Would a pat on the back help? Probably not, right? She isn't five-years-old, after all. I'm sure she's well aware that even if I tell her everything is going to be just peachy, it won't be.

"Oh," I say stupidly. "I—uh—that's all right. C'mon, she's not dead yet, is she?"

"I got three of my allies killed." I can only just make out the words, the crying and hiccups are so intense and are making her incoherent. "Three, Krow! _Allies!_ If they weren't my allies, I could stand it, but they were. And I'm tired of trying to be strong all the time when I'm not, and holding it in, while Ariel is dead. But I didn't kill her! When I should have. Because now that I haven't it just makes me look like a harmless little girl. _Again!_"

Three? Connor, Mara, who else? But I decide now is probably not the ideal time to ask her any of this, so I sit down beside her with my legs crossed and pat her on the back a couple times. This must look even more uncomfortable than I feel. But it seems to help, because the hiccups stop.

"I'm sorry," I tell her, as a silver parachute falls from the sky. It's quite the package, too, pretty large. I unwrap it, revealing a long coil of rope, and I look back at the hole Mara fell down, wondering if this will be any help at all.

**Mara's POV**

I fall for an extreme amount of time. Or maybe it just seems like it. I try and grab a hold on something, really anything, but there's nothing to grab. Just sand. Sand. More sand. Sand that could collapse on me at any moment and bury me, leaving me to die of starvation or thirst or suffocation or—

A shock goes through my body when I hit water. _Water. _I'm submerged in it, the pool is deep, but I quickly float back to the top and, seeing blackness, swim around and feel the walls that surround me. Wet sand greets my fingertips and, I try diving down to see if there's an escape route, but there's nothing. Absolutely nothing. There is no escape.

So I scream. Although, I'm not sure why. I'm always the calm one, the one that's laidback and doesn't really lose control over herself. The one that can settle other people down in intense situations. But this scream, it's loud and it's barbaric, and as it echoes off the sand walls I can't believe it came from me. Mara Davies. _Me. _

It feels good. Like I'm letting bottled up emotions out. So I scream again.

And again.

And again.

And on my fifth shriek, something drops and falls into the water. At first it looks a bit like a snake, but as I approach it, I realize that it's too long to be a snake. Because it climbs up the sand wall, up to that little hole of light at the very top. Rope. It's rope! Krow must have gotten it, somehow, and now he's sent it down to save me. So I grasp onto it. I have the smallest amount of upper-body strength, but the total strongest will to survive, so I manage to get a third of the way up before I feel tugging, and then I don't have to do any work. I'm being lifted into the air, out of the cave, and I'm smiling. _Smiling. _

For a moment even I have to think about why I'm smiling. I mean, it's nice that I'm getting out of here and all, but it's definitely no occasion in the Hunger Games for a smile. But then I grasp that it's just the littlest thing—the realization that I have at least one friend in these Games, and that that one friend is willing to help me survive, even if one of the two of us must die in the end of it.

**Odyss's POV**

I saw what was going on in the desert and instantly headed back in the jungle. Kind of scary, that sand. Falling down a hole is not a preferable way for me to die.

The storm is still raging in the jungle, though, so I take shelter in that cave that Ebony and Ryli and I woke up hung-over in. Who's left? Well, for the careers, there's Bambi and Cheyenne. Then there's Violet, with her marital arts. And Mara and Krow. And me. Final six. The Games are progressing, moving so fast, and soon it'll either be time for me to die with the rest of them, or live and be victor.

I'm assuming it's the former. Praying it will be the latter.

**Violet's POV**

The sound of a cannon wakes me up from a deadly nightmare about Ariel. This time, all she did was stare at me, while I stood there in a dark room, unable to move. It was the worst one yet. Just her eyes—oh my freaking goodness, only thinking about it makes me want to kill myself.

But of course I can't. That cannon symbolizes one thing: death. I'm part of the final five in the Hunger Games.

For a moment I think back to Trawny. The night he died in his sleep. The same night that I killed Zed. He didn't have any family left, Trawny, that I knew, so nobody back in District Eleven would be really mourning over him. Maybe only the owner of the orphanage, grieving over the loss of tesserae. But he was a sweet kid who could've grown up to be a nice guy, and now he won't, because he's dead.

Dead.

—

_The bugs are everywhere. The Peacekeepers say that they came from __the ruins of District Thirteen, looking for a new place to stay, but we all know better. There's been an influx of newborn babies this year. District Eleven's population is rising, and there's more weak than strong citizens now, the crops aren't prospering like they should be. These bugs are just another way of keeping that under control. They aim to kill us._

_ My little sister lies in her bed, eyes closed, her face dist__orted from the poisonous bites. My mother sits by her holding her hand. My father holds my mother's. I stand at the foot of the bed by the doctor, who takes his glasses off and rubs them against his white coat, looking hesitant. I wonder how many house calls he must be getting with these bugs on the loose. Probably a lot. _

_ "I'm sorry," he says. "I can't do much else. There's no cure. We can numb the pain for her, but that's about as far as it'll go."_

_ Silent sobs come from my mother. My father has tears in his eyes. But I stay quiet, independent, away from the others. That's my sister. And she's dying. _

_ The doctor pats me on the top of my head, saying how she has a couple hours left, and then sticks a needle in her arm for the pain and leaves to the next house. I stay where I am and merely stare at the girl in front of me. The blanket's pulled up to her neck, hair sprawled on the pillow. How did this happen? She didn't even go outside, but she was the one out of all four of us to get infected. The most innocent one out of anyone. _

_ I __say my goodbyes last, after my parents. She hasn't opened her eyes for days, but when I say her name, she stares right at me. In a rasp voice, she says, "I know I'm going to die, but I'm going to come back as a bird and watch over you. That's okay, right?" I nod, and she talks in a quieter voice, like it's a pain otherwise. "If you take my necklace I'll always be able to find you, Vi." The silver and golden pendant around her neck catches the sunlight, and I once again watch this small girl in front of me, who isn't even ten years old yet. This is my sister. This is the last time I will ever speak to her. She is going to die._

_ Die. _

_ Which she does. The next morning at five, I hear my mom start crying, and I know that it's happened. __She's gone. So before the doctors come to take her away, I unlace the pendant from her neck and place it around my own, keeping my eye out for any sort of bird._

—

I don't remember anything else from that year. That was years and years ago. But, clasping the pendant in my hand, I steady my breathing and put up that dam in my mind, where my sister's name and face stay behind, and nothing escapes. I can't stand to think back to that day. Not even that year. Never. Never again.

**Mara's POV**

As I reach the top of the hole I see Krow and Cheyenne pulling the rope I'm on, the slack layered at their feet. The warm bubbly feeling in me is rising. It's like I escaped death, because of Krow. Krow saved me. And I want nothing more but to throw my arms around him and hug him, even if this _is_ the Hunger Games, because Krow is my friend. And having simply a friend in this competition is almost the most overpowering, yet amazing, feeling in the entire world.

"Oh, thank God," Cheyenne says as I get a foot on solid ground.

I reach out for Krow, but suddenly I lose my footing. The sand slips under the one foot that's properly placed, and my body pitches backwards. A panicked shriek escapes my mouth, because as I look down, I see the sand is falling back down the hole. And fast. And when I glance back up, Krow is sticking his hand out along with Cheyenne, and I'm reaching out, but it's not quick enough. I'm falling. Again.

The rope flies towards me and I hold onto it. But it's at the expense of Krow plunging down with me, and it happens so rapid, so sudden, the thoughts run through my head in less than an instant. If I hold onto this rope, I weigh it down, and both Krow and I get buried alive. I leave behind a sister and a mother. Krow leaves behind three sisters and a mother.

Cheyenne is grabbing Krow's legs, and he's grasping the rope as I'm suspended in the hole, the sand hitting the two of us in the face and everywhere on our bodies; it's uncontainable.

I think I hear Cheyenne say in a strained voice, "I can't… hold on… for much longer."

And know that I can't let Krow do this. If Cheyenne can't hold on, both Krow and I will fall. He has three sisters. I only have one. And I won't allow him to sacrifice that. I won't allow him to sacrifice what a bright life he could be living back in his district, with his family and that Shrike girl if she ends up coming around.

"Let go," I whisper.

"I won't let someone die because I was a coward, Mara."

I stare up at the puffy white clouds for one last time; take in the last sight of beauty my eyes will ever see. Thinking back to reaping day, where Tarah and I had had our disagreement over tesserae and her charcoal makeup, I wish I had really patched things up with her, so I wouldn't have this feeling of regret about what I was going to do. Even if I had been the bigger person and apologized, although I know it wasn't _really_ my fault, that would have been better than nothing at all.

Now, I'll never get that chance.

"Thank you, Krow," I say. And to the clouds, I apologize, only wishing my sister will understand, and then I let my hands slip from the rope and myself to fall, deeper and deeper, as the sand becomes thicker and thicker, until it is so dense I can barely breathe, I'm suffocating, and I feel myself slowly slip away.


	53. What Matters Anymore

**A/N: ****Thank you to the band Hedley for curing my writers block (:**

**Yeah. So. It's hard to write these chapters**** as we go on. Unbelievably hard. Just thought you all should know that before… yeah. **

**Suggested listening:**

**Numb, Linkin Park**

**On Your Own, Green River Ordinance**

**Perfect, Hedley**

**Bambi's POV**

When I come across the waterfall that Trafford and Marina and I encountered on the first day, my initial instinct is to turn around the other way and run. Another natural disaster is not what I need—I don't want to get crushed by that giant wave again. But there's something about this place that makes _anyone_ want to turn around and run in the opposite direction. And it isn't the cracks in the ground. Or the way the water comes from the cliff wall, and then topples right back down. Or the eerie mist layer near the bottom of the cavern.

It's just the overall feel of it. And for that I can only be a bit suspicious. The Gamemakers must have intentionally made it this way, as nothing in these Games is coincidental, and so that can only mean one thing.

The Cornucopia is close.

**Violet's POV**

I'm flat-out of food and water. Sponsors haven't been coming in lately, not since another small roll of bread, and that must be because of the prices rising. I have no clue how to really set up a snare to catch an animal, and I'm not sure that I'm in the mood for much of more edible plants.

I may be pushing my luck by going back to the Cornucopia for a third time, but what else am I supposed to do? Wait around for my death? I'm in the final five. Even if I have a broken arm at the moment, I'm going to have to step it up a notch. Although this trip, I decide, will have to be my last. I'll grab a backpack full of food and one canteen of water and iodine solution, and maybe a blade or something. The Games will be ending soon, anyways, I suppose, and it should keep me going until then.

And I'm determined that they won't be taking my life with them.

—

At night I settle in a tree for the anthem, tied to the trunk with vine. Hopefully this won't end the same way as it did last time, and I won't be putting a second splint on tomorrow. But when Mara, from Seven, lights up in the sky, I think about who she had been with. She was allied with Cheyenne and Krow and Connor. And Cheyenne and Krow are still out there. To be honest, that scares me a little. It's an alliance going strong, and they are one of my biggest threats right now.

But then I guess there's only one thing to do with threats.

Take them out.

**Odyss's POV**

I wake up in the morning with, yet again, a kink in my neck. Any slight movement sends prickles down my upper back and right shoulder, and I know that it will be nearly impossible to fight with this sort of injury. But I'm a sitting duck in this cave.

Scooting my way to the back corner of the small cave, I place my javelin on my lap, just in case, along with the remaining two apples and half loaf of bread. If someone _was_ to find me here I'm concealed in the shadows, and before they knew it they would have a javelin through their throat.

**Bambi's POV**

_I stare at him from across the room. Long blond hair that sits on his shoulders. Deep blue eyes that remind me heavily of the ocean. Muscles that ripple slightly beneath his t-shirt when he rea__ches for that pencil he dropped, I'm sure I hear about every girl in my class sigh as they also notice the rippling muscles, and I can only hope that I don't look that pathetic. I turn back to my notebook and concentrate on finding the value of x._

_ Trace is the class hunk. And I know that I, myself, am wanted by some of the guys in the school, but I can hardly notice them when Trace is around. How much his eyes look like the sea, sometimes calm and the water still, but others when he's frustrated or angry how the waves crash and tumble, and that one glint that's always in the corner. I observe the way he tosses his head when his hair is in those eyes, and it moves back into its faultless place._

_ I tell my best friend Zelda about how much I want this boy I've never spoken to, but she just glares at me. "Trace Bryden?"_

_ "Yes," I say. "He's very handsome, you know."_

_ "Trace Bryden's father was in the Hunger Games." Zelda shakes her head slowly. "Years ago. He was a ruthless killer, Bambi. Evil. Killed tributes to the Capitol's liking. He committed suicide after Trace was born, but that doesn't change who he was." She just goes on with the glares. "Would you like to marry a child of one of the Capitol's puppets?"_

—

_Zelda is right. I know she's right. District Nine has barely any careers, but the few we do are completely sadistic. And those few ones, everyone knows, don't deserve to come home to the district in the end of it. But Trace's father did end up coming home. And everybody hates the victors. Especially the vicious ones. _

_ But there's something about Trace that simply doesn't scream 'KILLER' to me. When I look at him I see a quiet, gorgeous, young boy which all the girls admire. Although, he's never had a girlfriend, despite the looks, and I have to wonder if the looks are as deep as he gets. Is he like his father so much that once you meet him, you never want to speak to him again?_

_ And there's something about him that draws me in. I want to find out more about him, no matter who his father is, was. Which I do. When we're paired together for a writing assignment. _

_ Free writing is strictly prohibited, and if it offends someone such as the Peacekeepers, it can result in a public whipping. So, while I move my desk next to Trace's, neither of us talking, we each brainstorm separately on opposite pieces of paper. I think up how we can compare all of the districts, and other boring ideas such as that. I take a glance over at Trace's page and see that he's written a poem. _

_ "Can I read it?" I ask. _

_ He looks up. The blue eyes are tranquil today. "I s'pose." He hands me the paper, hesitantly, and as I read, I realize that Zelda was not right about this boy in any way at all. _

_ It's about his hate for his father. His hate for the Capitol. My first instinct is to hide this and rip it up so nobody sees it, and so Trace won't get punished for writing such a thing, but that would be sort of rude, so I gently hand it back to him and look away to the other side of the room._

**Odyss's POV**

I sit there, at the back of the cave, for who knows how long. I've eaten half of an apple and a couple bites of bread, wanting to save the rest for later, but that isn't enough to keep my energy levels high. I need water. Without water I'll die here in this cave, alone.

So I scramble on my knees outside, cautious not to move my neck too much, and find a small pond. Of salt water. I spit it out and splash my face with some of the completely useless liquid, hoping that that will cure my quenches, but it does nothing. Back in the cave, minutes later, I find that there are small puddles of condensation behind rocks—but as I'm gulping the tiny amounts down it's evident that it won't be near enough.

A flash from outside catches my attention, and as I squint, I can just barely make out silver. _Silver._ It's a parachute! Sponsors! "There must be water in there. There has to be," I say to me.

I heave myself towards the entrance slash exit when I hear a weird sound coming from above me. It sounds like something is hitting the roof of the cave. And, as I stand up to listen closely, it's more frequent and loud. I'm about to jump out, for the parachute and for my life, but that's when the roof collapses on me.

**Bambi's POV**

"_I'm sorry about your father," I tell Trace. He doesn't look up above his notebook and pencil, just shrugs in reply. _

_How can he not be attracted to me? I could have any other guy in this classroom, right now, but Trace seems to actually have the opposite feeling of attraction towards me. _

_Except__ I know that I shouldn't be like this. Lusting for the one boy I can't have. For the one boy that _nobody_ should have. But there's something about him that's different from all the other ones, something so mysterious, and I feel like I need to know what that is. _

_ I shift awkwardly in my desk, trying to work up the courage to say something else. The effect Trace has on me, I loathe it. Usually I'm a natural flirt. Why should he be any exception?_

_"I know that everyone else thinks that you are, you know, _like_ him," I blurt out. I automatically regret saying shit, but I know that now that I've already started this conversation it'd be more stupid to stop than to just keep going. "But I don't see you like that." He stares at me, saying nothing. So I blabber on. "I just thought you should know."_

_ Trace flicks his head to the side, his hair flipping out of his eyes. "Thank you."_

_ "And do you wanna do something this weekend?" _

_ Oh, why did I do that? What reason in hell would compel me to ask Trace Bryden out? I'm not sure my m__other or Zelda and not even Lilly would approve of it, so if we did do something, I'd have to work my way around them. But _if_ we did something. Why would Trace go out with me? I feel inferior and small around him. And that's because, I'm sure, I _am.

_It's because of all these thoughts that his next words, spoken so casually and bluntly, surprise me and please me all at once. "I would like that."_

—

_Trace knows as well as I do that if I'm caught with the son of a monster, I'll be punished. Not as harsh as he probably was for _having_ that man as his father, but severely enough for me never being able to see him again. My mother thinks I'm going out with a nice boy from town, one with rich parents and a wealthy background. She has no idea that the area in town he lives in is called Victor's Village. _

_ So the next few months__ we spend together are private. We have a picnic in the woods, one day, when I tell Zelda I have an appointment at the doctor's for a sore throat. We go and have dinner at his house, where I meet his mother, who is very kind and cooks a homemade meal of potatoes and vegetables. Then when it's over I sneak out and over the fence in the back and run home, disregarding the fact that tomorrow is the most dreaded day of the year._

—

_Lilly gets reaped. She heads into the arena as an innocent, beautiful girl from District Nine. She comes out as a rotting corpse, even the Capitol not capable of mending all of the wounds she received or sewing her body parts back together. Trace comes to the funeral, but stays near the back, receiving dirty looks from all of my friends that have come to support me. But later I meet him in the bathroom where he holds me as I sob into his chest. _

_ If I should hate anyone in our district right now, it should be Trace. His father did to others what that Ledger from District One did to Lilly. But, I can't. Although I've only known him for a couple months, he's one of the few people that actually… get me. That understand what makes me cry, and, more importantly, what makes me stop. Zelda is another one of these people, but I doubt she can really feel the pain I'm going through. She comes from a rich family, richer than mine, and none of them have had to sign up for tesserae or have ever gotten reaped. __They're all healthy. They never struggle with anything; never have to worry about crap. _

_Trace knows what loss is. _

_"Bambi?" _

_I jump up from the ground, where Trace and I sit, at the voice. _

_Zelda._

**Cheyenne's POV**

I killed Mara.

I killed Alexander.

I killed Connor.

I killed them all.

And, even if I win the Games, I'm anything but a winner. This is a lose-lose situation, and it is impossible for me to come out of it victorious. Krow tells me it isn't my fault, but these are just words. Words mean nothing. Words can't mend the damage that I've caused—caused to three families that will never see their child again—caused to my unfortunate allies—caused to myself.

Words can't take back what I've done.

"Don't let it get to you too much," Krow tells me, the night Mara died, while we're awaiting the anthem. "You're not alone on this. I'm sure it's happened to many other tributes before. You have to push past it so you can win."

_I don't deserve to win._

_ I don't deserve to survive._

Such thoughts can't enter my mind, I decide instantly. I can't be thinking like this. I have to think of Angelo, and his fiancé, and the baby that I sacrificed myself for.

Sacrificed myself for.

Although I let three others sacrifice themselves for me, I saved two lives in the process, didn't I? Angelo's fiancé and the baby. It's two lives that I have repaid, an eye-for-an-eye, but I still have that one that must be somehow settled-off. How? I don't know. All I know is that I'm cursed. And I don't know if it's the Gamemakers making it that way, or pure coincidence, but everyone I ally with dies in my hands.

I don't want that to happen to Krow.

"I have to leave," I tell him suddenly.

He blinks. "You have to leave?"

"Yes. It's the final five, Krow. I couldn't stand to be with you in the final three, and then the final two, and then having to—" I shake my head. "I can't be allied with anyone this far in the Games. We'll go at it alone. We don't have a choice."

He's hesitant about it, I can tell, but he also knows that separating while we have the chance is the best thing to do. If it came down to Krow and I, would I be able to kill him, knowing that the deaths I have to make up for would then equal to two? Or would I do something drastic? Dramatic? Repay that last life with my own, because I couldn't live with that burden the rest of my existence?

But he nods eventually and says, "I guess this is goodbye. Good luck, Cheyenne."

I nod too, once, firm. "You too."

As I walk away, the remaining bow and arrows slung over my shoulders, I can't help but hope he wins just so I won't be able to.

**Bambi's POV**

I think of Trace while I take a step off the edge of the cliff. Emptiness is below me. Water is pouring into the emptiness, and this is such a risk, I don't know why I even think for a moment of jumping.

But there's something down there. I know there is.

Zelda appears in my mind, grasping my wrist, pulling me out of the bathroom and away from Trace. Away from comfort. And yet, I'm ashamed. Ashamed that I was with him in the first place. Now, I'm ashamed that I felt that way in the first place. Trace was the earliest, and only, guy I actually liked. Ever. And I let him slip away because of what Zelda thought.

I take in a deep breath, letting my other foot slide off the edge, joining the other.

Oh, I regret it. I regret allowing Zelda to take me away from Trace, for forcing me to stop seeing him, while I stood back and accepted it and turned my views away from him and love, to avenging Lilly's death. To becoming the very thing that Trace's father once was. To become a hypocrite; to become what I had been ashamed of.

I fall. Down with the water, down with my hopes. With my dreams. My dreams of growing up with riches and a family and a husband that loves me, whom I love back.

Zelda didn't see it like I did; the hypocrite perspective. She saw that what I was doing was for someone I loved: Lilly. But then what about Trace's dad? Why had he committed suicide just after his son was born? Because he did it for someone he loved. He didn't want his son growing up with him as a father—he didn't want Trace to look at him every day, and see a monster. Or, worse, to grow up to be like him. And I couldn't blame him, as I read that suicide note that Trace had kept for so many years, the one time I went for dinner at his home. I don't think I would've handled it any better.

I plunge into a pond of water, now, but I let myself sink. I let myself float to the bottom, recognize the glint of the Cornucopia, but then I stay there on the rocky floor.

Maybe I should have at least apologized to Trace before volunteering, for permitting Zelda to split us up so easily. But I didn't. And now his face looms in the back of my mind, his face as Zelda had dragged me out of that bathroom, the way confusion was painted across his features.

Without another thought, I push myself to the top of the pond, gasp in air, and then dive back down to grab more items that will help me survive, and get back home; just so I can say all of those apologies I need to give.


	54. Hopefully

**A/N: ****I'm sorry. I've had writers block on and off for the past couple weeks. If anyone knows an infinite cure, lemme know xD. **

**Annnnywho…**

**It's the Hunger Games. There can only be one winner.**

**That's what I tell myself when I write.**

**So remember that. **

**And I basically have everything that's going to happen from now on planned out. Finally.**

**Suggested listening:**

**Uprising, Muse**

**How Far We've Come, Matchbox Twenty**

**Violet's POV**

The drop down to the Cornucopia is as scary as ever. First, there's that feeling where you're simply falling. Just, falling. And you don't know when it's gonna end.

Then you get caught in a current of water, and it's sort of like a water slide, free-for-all fun, except for the part where you remember that you're in the Hunger Games. And then you're falling again and this time you're completely submerged under icy water where you see that the shimmering, golden Cornucopia is not too far away.

It's more adrenaline than those shots of pure caffeine.

I don't surface for a while. I stay under the water, grab the last remaining knife in the Cornucopia and a backpack. I had been sure that there was more than one knife left the last time I was here, but I can't seem to find any others so I just swim up to the top and take in a breath, letting the water that's falling down from the waterfall pelt me, and then finally paddle away from the falling water so I can breathe.

…Coming face to face with Bambi.

She stares at me for a few moments. I stare back. But then, once the reaction hits, I duck under the water watching as her blade—the one missing from the Cornucopia— passes just clear of my head. I can't let the backpack weigh me down anymore, so I drop that, but keep the knife firmly in my hand. It's only once I've reached that falling water again that I dare resurface for oxygen.

"I can't believe that the girl that punched Ariel made it to the final five," her voice rings through the crashing water. "I have to admit that I have respect for that."

I don't reply, I just try and make her out through the water collapsing around me. I think I see her silhouette, vaguely, metres away, but I can't be too sure.

The water is coming down much harder, now, and I think the water level's rising. Unable to decide if this is an asset for me or not, I dive back down under and wait until I see her feet splashing around, where I get a good gash on her ankle. But then her foot collides with my stomach and the air is knocked out of me, so I'm required to swim back up.

It's hard, fighting while treading water. It's more difficult to use the knife, dodge and block hits, and just _move. _Maybe I could be winning, maybe, if Bambi didn't have the stronger legs and arms and I didn't have to keep using the cavern wall to keep myself afloat. And my good hand was, well, still good.

During the time from the bottom of the waterfall, to the dry land at the top, Bambi slices at my bad hand various times, but it's already injured so it doesn't really make a difference, and I maximize the cut in her ankle to the point where I doubt she'd be capable of walking on it.

But then we're spit by the water onto the soil and grass. It seems to be raining from the water that's coming down, but I'm sure that that's probably just the wave descending over us. And I don't hear thunder or see flashes of lightning, either, so that, at least, is something I don't gotta worry about avoiding.

I slash my knife at Bambi but something flies and whacks me in the face. I'm thrown onto my butt, beside the backpack that just hit me, as I dodge an axe that soars through the air, out of the cavern on water pressure that almost also decapitates Bambi. The Cornucopia's contents are all taking to the air, out of the waterfall—I guess that the Gamemakers believe that there hasn't been enough bloodshed lately.

It's even _more_ difficult to fend off Bambi, a career, with one hand while attempting to step out of the path of flying weapons. I'm not an expert in swordsmanship. I'm an expert in martial arts. It's just kind of hard to knock someone out with your fist when they have a knife.

But I can do it. I have to.

I have to survive.

**Bambi's POV**

No way can I let the District Eleven girl beat me. Not right after gaining back my courage and dignity from those hallucinations—not after deciding, once and for all, that I'm in this to win it and anything less is considered an utter failure. Not only by me, but by my family and friends, and by the Capitol audience.

But now the Gamemakers have come to a judgment that it would be quite interesting if they made every single item that was formerly in the Cornucopia come out and try to kill me, as well, and every time a weapon shows my way I have to dive rather than simply run like Violet can because of my now-bad ankle, exposing myself to vulnerability.

At one point I hit Violet's blade with so much force it flies out of her hand to the side. I have to take this chance while I have it. So I hop over to it, ducking while a bottle of sun block flutters over my head, pick up the knife and throw it down into the cavern. Any where else would be too much of a risk. She can sprint and get to it faster than I can jump on one foot, and then we'd be back at the start.

Now, I tackle her to the ground. She can't do much about it because one of her arms is taped to her side and I have the upper-hand in physical strength. I've trained for this for years. Since Lilly died. And if I lose now, then I lose Zelda and Trace and my mother and, more importantly, my older sister.

Violet is struggling under my grip, her legs and arms thrashing out. But I've got her in an ill-fated position–her hands stuck to her hips with my thighs keeping them that way, and her legs so far away I don't even have to bother worrying about whatever they're doing.

I run my fingers over the blade of my knife, slowly, savoring the feeling of being in control. There are no illusions here. Just me, Violet, a blade, and the fact that one of us is about to die. And that that person isn't me.

"I'm sorry," I say to her, although I'm not. If I want to survive, I have to kill. That's just how the Games go. There's no way around that, and everyone knows it.

Raising my blade, I come to a conclusion I'll make it prompt for her. I may be a career, but I'm not like Ariel or Keith or Trace's father, and if I'm going to kill someone I'll kill them like I'd want to die. Fast. Swift. So my family wouldn't have to suffer back at home, watching my blood leisurely leak onto the ground.

But just as I'm about to kill this District Eleven girl, I feel something pierce through my back. Abruptly, I can't breathe. My blade falls out of my palms and reflects harmlessly off Violet's stomach, dropping to the dirt, and I feel myself falling off to the side of her, landing on my back, which just makes the pain more unbearable. I want to sit up, but I can't. There's a liquid—no, it's blood—bubbling in my mouth, and the throbbing only becomes worse.

My vision is slightly blurry, but I can see Violet standing above me. Her hands fumble around my back, I'm flipped onto my stomach, and whatever was in my back is now released. The blood in my mouth increases. I spit it out, over and over again, but there's more. There's too much of it.

I think of Lilly. How I couldn't avenge her death. How I will never be able to tell the guy that killed her, Ledger, off. I think of my mother. How I will never be able to apologize for her losing both of her children to the Games, or for becoming more distant to her during my training. I think of Zelda. How she'll never know that I still might love Trace. The boy she hates with a passion. And I think of Trace. How he'll never know that what I did, abandoning him for Lilly, who I _really_ had no way of helping anyways, now stands in my mind as the wrong choice.

Just before darkness overtakes me I see Violet holding a blood-covered knife. It's her knife. The knife I threw into the cavern. And the knife that killed me.

**Odyss's POV**

I'm covered in rubble and rocks. It would be impossible for me to breathe if it wasn't for a small hole right above my mouth, and the only reason that no rocks hit me in the head, killing me, is that I got my elbows over my body right before the whole thing fell in and sent me to the ground; my elbows and arms took a lot of the damage. I've got no idea whatsoever on what to do next, I'm stuck, and I'm terrified that if I move the rocks will cover my only access to the outside air.

But just lying here is going to kill me. I need water. And eventually I'll need food.

So, what to do?

Move and risk dying from rocks suffocating me? Or risk dying because of thirst?

The first would be quicker. More painful, maybe, but quicker. Let's go with that.

It's easier said than done to move under here. The roof of the cave is heavy on top of me, and I start with my fingers, twitching them slowly, and then move to my entire hand. It turns on its side, my hand, the rock previously on top of it rolling off to the side and I get it out of the way just in time before another piece of gravel crushes it.

Now, I do my other hand. Once they're both free to roam across the thin space between the rubble and me, I get them onto my stomach, where they sit until I come up with a mildly decent plan, which is to reach into that small outside hole and use that as leverage to push the remaining rocks off of me.

The whole thing takes me a while, especially with a neck that I can't move properly. I'm not sure if it's hours or just minutes but it seems like days, and I'm sweaty and hungry and I don't know if I've ever been this thirsty in my life, ever, but eventually my body can move. The fresh air overwhelms me, filling my lungs, and I breathe it in thankfully while slowly standing up.

And then sitting back down. I'm dizzy. Any sudden movement takes the breath out of me, and the world is spinning. I need water, I realize. I _need_ water.

That silver parachute is in the back of my mind. The one that was outside of the cave right before the roof collapsed. But it's somewhere under the rubble, now. Somewhere…

Oh shit. Shit. _Shit. _I'm too dizzy, too fucking dizzy. It isn't good. Can't be good. Water, food…

On my hands and knees, I crawl through the gravel and rocks until I see that familiar flash of silver. _Silver. _"Water," I rasp aloud, and then gather the parachute up in my hands, unraveling it greedily and finding—

Crackers.

_Crackers. _Fucking _crackers. _Crackers are in no way going to help me right now, not when what I madly need is water. Maybe an apple would, I have a couple left in that basket, but there's no glint of light under the grayness to show me where they might be buried like there was for the parachute.

I think another silver fleck drops down by me, but I'm too exhausted to bother to keep my eyes open for another moment.

Too tired. Too thirsty. Can barely breathe.

Why do I try?

—

_Jacklyn is scared. She's always__ been scared on this one day for me for the past seven years now; even if the first time it happened she was only five and couldn't really understand what was actually going on._

_ "I'll be okay," I say to her, and ruffle her hair. My mother, from the other side of the kitchen, gives me a look. Sympathy, I think, and sadness. _

_I respond with a shrug. What else am I to do? I can't control this any more than she can, these Games, and the only motivation we have to say otherwise is to give ourselves that little bit of false hope for Jacklyn. My baby sister. One of the only people in this world that I would kill for, die for. _

_ "Odyss," she says with a mouthful of toast. "If you get chosen you'll come back, right? For me? You will, won't you?"_

_I nod. What else am I to do? She's eleven. It's the only thing I can say to comfort her. "Obviously, Jacklyn, I will."_

_That gets me a small smile. A smile full of faith in me. A smile that makes me think,_ If it happens, I will try. What else am I to do?

—

I'm in physical and mental pain when I open my eyes, but I know that I have to grab that parachute that dropped before I passed out, and before I pass out again. I'm not sure if I close my eyes I'll have the strength to reopen them once more.

_If you want to live, for your sister, for your mother, then that parachute is the only option you have. _

Forcing my shaking hand towards the silver, I manage to, gradually, unwrap it all and stare at the canteen the size of my palm just for a moment before chugging the entire thing down.

**Krow's POV**

Cheyenne and I head in opposite directions. One half of me hopes that I will be able to see her again before the end of the Games. The other half tells off that first half, how if we do meet up we will probably be forced into killing each other.

But maybe I'll get lucky and someone will kill her before I have to.

At the sound of a cannon, I jump. Cannon's are becoming rarer. One every second day, if that even. And who knows who that one was? Cheyenne? Is it bad that I'm wishing that it _is _her? Is it a horrible thing to hope she dies?

If it isn't then I guess that the Hunger Games are finally getting the best of me.

**Cheyenne's POV**

Was separating from Krow a mistake?

I don't know. I don't _think_ so. I think that it might've been a mistake for me and a good thing for him—getting another ally killed isn't something I want on my shoulders for the rest of my life—but now if I get attacked or whatever, I have less of a chance of survival. There's only Violet, Bambi and Odyss left—and last time I checked none of them are allies. Krow and I could have the final two _on lock_, reserved just for us, if we wanted.

But that's not how these Games work. It's not as simple on the inside as it is on the out.

So it's me and Krow in the final two. We're standing right beside each other, the last two contestants in this competition, and there's no doubt in either of our minds that the Capitol wants bloodshed. The final battle must be a brilliant one. And the Gamemakers aren't going to settle for anything less.

But what do we do? Do we fight? I could never kill Krow, ever, and Krow could never kill me, I'm pretty sure. Either we both get blown to bits by the Gamemakers, who must be bored by that point and want to spice things up, or one of us kills the other.

As long as someone kills him before I have to do it…

Well. Then I'll be fine.

Hopefully.


	55. Why Bother

**A/N: I know we're not there yet but I kind of want your guys' opinions now. For the epilogue ****I'm planning would you rather see the post-game events, like the victory tour, the victor's life a year after the Games, or the victor's life ten years after the Games? Review and let me know? (:**

**Suggested listening: **

**Meant to Live, Switchfoot **

**The Scientist, ****Coldplay (a lá Peyton122. Thank you! :) )**

**Violet's POV**

I'm only safe from harm for a couple hours after Bambi dies. Because when those few hours are over, I'm bombarded by a plague of insects.

They aren't the ones that chased Tiffany and Trawny and me. They don't electrocute you when they touch you. They just… I don't even know what they do, really. They're only flying around my face and my body, and I'm swatting them all away but still they're there. Hovering around me. Their buzzing rings in my ears louder than the reverberation of a train, and I'm wondering what they're trying to accomplish by it all. I mean, buzzing can't kill me, right? Just flying around in a swarm around my head can't end me, can it?

Finally they buzz away into the distance, and all I can do is plop down on the ground, breathing heavily from flailing my arms around so much.

What was the point of that?

—

I wander around the jungle disregarding the insects, now thinking of a different topic, of my chances of winning. A one in four chance of going back to Eleven alive. Much better than a one in twenty-four chance if nothing else. But then again I'm up against—maybe not Ariel—but some pretty tough cookies. Like Cheyenne. She got a high score in the private training sessions. And Krow has that long scary scar up his arm, and refused to admit to anyone where it had come from. And Odyss—well—Odyss is tall. I wouldn't want to face him if he had an axe or something.

But look at how far _I've _gotten. They don't know it, but I killed Ariel. And I killed Zed. And carried Trawny around for more than half of the Games. I didn't kill Bambi exactly, maybe, and it is entirely possible that she would've killed me if earlier my knife hadn't fallen down the cavern and then come back up and stabbed her. But it was her own fault, really. She was the one that went ahead and threw it down there.

After an hour of wandering I start feeling tired so I take a rest on the ground. I haven't bothered to be quiet lately. There are four of us in this big arena, and I doubt that I'll run into someone unless something pushes us together. That's when I'll take the time to worry. That's when I'll start taking the effort to be quiet. As of now, I'm just purely exhausted.

Sitting between the high skyward roots of a tree is when I notice the first welt. It's on my arm, the color of a bright yellow banana and a perfect rounded circle about a centimeter above my flesh, and I know that it hadn't been there when Bambi died. I touch it lightly and then instantly regret it when pain courses through me. Where the hell'd I get _that_ from?

The only other time I've had one of these is the one time when I got publicly whipped for trying to stop the Peacekeepers from hurting that little boy for being 'disobedient'. As in, eating crops from a field that wasn't assigned to him. That was some of the most pain I've ever been through in my life. And the scars are still etched in my back, reminders that I should never stand up for something like that in my life ever again. You don't defy the Capitol.

But now I catch sight of another one lingering on my calf. And then another on my knee, and yet another on my hand.

And I can't help but feel these are hazily familiar, these injuries, as they differ slightly from the ones I received from the whipping; these welts are too brightly yellow, and they rise above my skin a little too much. But I've seen them before. In fact, I _know_ I've seen them. Something nagging me in a buried corner of my mind tells me that I've witnessed something nearly identical to it. But _where—_

The dam breaks. The memories rush back.

My sister's face, distorted. My mother crying. My father trying to hold back the tears. Lifting the pendant off her neck, getting one last glance at her wounds, the damage that the disease had done to her body—

And suddenly I know that my one in four chance of survival has dramatically decreased back to, at the very least, the one in twenty-four. Maybe one in one thousand twenty-four.

Because those insects that plagued me—those are the ones that killed my sister.

**Cheyenne's POV**

I suppose that I'm not all right in the head anymore. I suppose that I may be messed up a little, thinking too much. Thinking too much about Alexander and Mara and Connor. I've had a lot of time to think, too, which is never a good thing when it comes to me. I keep seeing Alexander's mouth, no teeth and no tongue inside, with the corners twitched up in a smile. I keep seeing Mara's face as she let go of that rope I was unable to hold on to. How I was unable to save both of them. I keep seeing Connor's eyes, terrified and yet the most noble look sparkling in them, as I climb down the long tunnel and away from the rising water.

And then I start to thinking 'bout other things, too. Like home. Like Jannett's face when she saw me volunteer for her and the baby. Angelo shaking his head at me not in disappointment but in sadness, as the Peacekeepers drag him out of the room I said my last goodbyes to them in. And although I was so, _so_ tiny when it happened and I've never watched those Games again, I swear I see my sister getting her head chopped off with that sword.

And these images are the only ones that play in my mind. Over and over again. Until I can't stand it and cannot think rationally any longer. I can't think of what I need to do, which is most likely to gather food and water and kill everyone but Krow; I can only think of how much I miss my allies. And my family. And how I'll never get to see my nephew or niece.

But I'm frustrated with myself. And my allies. And my family. For being so far away. But especially the Capitol. They've made me a pawn in their games. They've made me go through this and suffer, knowing that if I die I will be forgotten by everyone but my family forever, and knowing that if I win I'll have to live in a beautiful house with more money than the mayor, never forgetting. Always remembering. Always burdened and hampered.

I don't even notice the gnawing in my stomach or the aching in my throat as I make my way to the desert at night after the anthem announces that Bambi chick has died. I'm hot and sweaty, I realize, but that's all I realize. I want coldness. I don't want my clothes sticking to my skin because it gets me more worked up.

I lie down on the sand, Connor's eyes making another appearance in my brain. _Screw off_, I wanna say, but everything just keeps flooding back with more force each time I try and push it away.

Hoping to scare them, the memories I mean, away, I rapidly let out a series of high-pitched shrieks. They don't echo as nicely as they did in the jungle. And it doesn't really sound menacing, just kinda like I saw a spider or something. And it doesn't make the memories go away. So I stand up and kick a cactus, which makes my foot go numb but I was already numb anyways, and then lie back down. I don't notice the stars, like I did when I had Alexander's warmth right beside me. I try to. But I can't. They're too far away. Everything is too far away.

I hear myself saying strings of words, but I don't understand what I'm saying or why I'm saying it. They're choppy and don't make sense when put together. Like, "Avox, sand, big wave."

What's wrong with me? Have I gone insane?

What is insanity though? Would it be clear to me if I was no longer sane? Or would I think I was still perfectly fine and prance around and do my normal routine, when deep down I had lost it. Or maybe I'd be what I'm doing now and thinking about insanity and what it means to be insane—to the point of going crazy over it.

I really _am_ messed up, aren't I? Like, who _thinks_ like me besides me?

Sighing, I turn onto my stomach face in the sand, wanting sleep to overtake me. But it can't because my mind is still droning and I can't feel my foot and my heart beats too quickly and with too much force against my ribcage. Maybe I can lie here until all the others die and get to go home. Maybe I can win against the others just by lying here, forever, unmoving.

There you go, Cheyenne. That's it. Get your hopes up even higher.

**Odyss's POV**

The water is hardly enough to allow me the pleasure of standing on my two feet again. But it gives me back my balance; adequate for me to be able to shuffle slowly along the jungle ground until my foot sinks into a puddle of mud, meaning that there has to be water somewhere close. At least I'm on the right track.

I've shoved a dry cracker down my throat, and it helped with the hunger but only worsened the thirst. So in the end I guess it didn't do much shit for me at all.

"Odyss," I say to myself. "You're going to survive. So don't doubt it. Just keep walking, just keep walking, just keep walking…" I laugh a little. That could be a song. "_Just keep walking, just keep walking, just keep waaaaalking…_" Eventually my throat hurts from the singing so I resort to humming the tune. _Hmm hm hm hmm, Hmm hm hm hmm, Hmm hm hm hmmmm…_

I've gone mad. But it keeps my mind off the pains.

Now I've found a small fresh-water spring-like thing, more like a big puddle actually but same difference, hidden beneath a tree. I dunno how I came across it, maybe the mud was moister as I neared it, but it's very small. I'm not even sure how many times I could possibly fill my palm-sized canteen up with this source. Maybe ten at the most. But I gulp it all down, at last quenched, besides the last few drops which I gather into the canteen to save for later.

But these crackers—they won't last me. And edible plants were Ryli's expertise before she, well, you know. Hunting is possible. But a snare takes… effort. I don't have that much left in me.

And as if on cue, a voice booms through the arena. I forget the name of the voice. The host of the Games. Some ridiculous, Capitol-induced name, like Phaspian Something-or-other. Something along those lines. It'll take me too much effort to get it right.

"Tributes!" says Phaspian Somethingorother's voice. It has a smoker's rasp to it. I wonder briefly if it's been altered by surgery to sound more like that or if he simply smokes. "All of you are in need of something right now. Most of the edible food in the arena has either been used or removed. So good luck with that!" He pauses to give a slight chuckle. Must be the worst host of the Games I've heard since the dude that started sobbing in the middle of announcing the winner. "The wonderful Gamemakers have proposed a delight for each and every one of you: a feast will be held at the starting point of the Games, the middle of the desert! The feast will begin as soon as the sun sets below the horizon tonight. Be there, or be square!" Another chuckle. "And the people of Panem wish you luck!"

The voice seems to evaporate into the air. Why would he say that? Why would he tell us that the edible food has been removed by the Gamemakers? I guess that taking the Cornucopia away this year has lessened blood significantly. I guess that what's been going on hasn't been enough for the audience. So, why not, let's let 'em fight over the last source of survival! It'll be fantastic!

And the worst part is, I _have_ to go. Merely sending me a small loaf of bread now must cost me a fortune. Sponsors won't come. Even if I could catch a rabbit or something there are none left to catch. And I guess the edible plants have also been removed, unless I fancy being poisoned by something I let myself believe is edible just because I'm starved.

I wonder who else will be there. Krow and Cheyenne? Will they go? Maybe they managed to find the Cornucopia—they were in an alliance after all—and salvage the food they have. Maybe they won't need food for another couple days. And Violet. She seemed smart, didn't she? Aside from the fact she punched Ariel in the face, of course. But still. Any of these people could have found the Cornucopia. Maybe all of them did. Maybe I'll be the only one showing up at this feast, get all the goods, and then with those alone last until the end.

Or maybe I won't. Maybe they'll kill me. Viciously.

Maybe I'll die by sunset.

**Krow's POV**

A feast. I've seen them all the time during the Games, but never once have I seen everyone come out of it alive. Tonight, someone will die at this feast. Whether it is me, or Cheyenne, or Odyss or Violet, or perhaps more than one of us, not all four of us will get out of there. That is a fact. It is not an assumption or opinion. It's a fact.

I pick the pickaxe up and into my hands. It wasn't the best quality, turned out. The handle broke in half and the metal is rusting and it's bound to fall apart any moment now. But not before tonight—I'll make sure of it. I need this weapon for tonight if nothing else.

Right now it seems to be about—what?—just past noon. The sun's just falling from the highest point. I'll have to make my plan now. Especially if I want to be there before the others.

But do I? There are plenty of sand dunes to hide behind in that area but it's also extremely exposed, depending what angle you're approaching from. Someone could sneak up behind me, or if I was turned the other way they could slide down to my side of the dune without me even noticing and kill me within seconds. I could wait until long after the sun sets and _then _go, but all the food might be gone with everyone else.

Unless they don't have weapons, unlike me and Cheyenne. If they try to physically attack me one blow to the head with my pickaxe would take them out. Who knows, I could even get there extra early and take someone else's food for my own. It wouldn't be killing, exactly. It'd just be lengthening my survival and shortening theirs. Another way for me to get home.

I'm already making my way to the desert, the pickaxe slung dangerously—at least I think it looks dangerous—over one of my shoulders. I try to be as quiet as possible as I walk through the trees, not stepping on any lone branches or leaves or anything of the kind. My sisters are watching me I bet, yelling at the television for me to find a way not to go into this feast, when we all really know that that's impossible. What am I supposed to do? Chow down on leaves and dirt the last few days?

Or maybe my family went to the square to watch the more decent television they have set up so they wouldn't feel so alone and my mother wouldn't have to be concerned with watching my little sisters. Everyone in the Seam adores my sisters—Amelia the oldest, Bonica the middle child who was named after a flower, and Delphinium the youngest, also named after a flower. Amelia only speaks when asked a question, but she's brave. Bonica is going to be rebellious; you can just tell by the attitude. And Delph is outspoken and bubbly and can cheer just about anyone up. The cheery flower she's named after suits her.

A lot of people in our district are named after flowers and plants actually. I wonder if that's because they're so beautiful in a district so horrible, and it gives people hope to hear words like "Blossom" and "Primrose" every day.

Shrike must be watching as well, I realize abruptly. The cameras have to be panning to each of us four equally, observing what we're doing to prepare for the feast. Does she care? Does she know my name by now? Did I get what I wanted by volunteering?

Or was it always just a lost cause to bother trying with her?


	56. Repaid

**A/N: ****I had this chapter written yesterday. I just didn't have enough backbone and guts to post it.**

**Bleeech. This is difficult.**

**Suggested listening: **

**Let the Flames Begin, Paramore**

**Brick By Boring Brick, Paramore (the acoustic version is just as wonderful, maybe better)**

**I know they're both by Paramore. I had another song by Three Days Grace but it had a lot of swearing, and I**** kinda felt uncomfortable 'suggesting' it—oddly enough considering this fic has a good amount of cussing in it.**

**On another note…**

**Violet's POV**

What's happened to me in the past few hours, I'm not sure. I've just realized the severity of the circumstances. Not only am I now killing for myself, but for my sister. To beat the disease that she was unable to conquer.

The antidote will be at the feast. I'm sure of it. And so I've readied myself with the blade and my last strip of beef—the host of the Games was right; all of the food in the Cornucopia has been removed. Probably flew off somewhere into the distance when the waterfall exploded never to be found again. I only have this beef because I took it out of Bambi's pocket before the hovercraft took her body.

But, anyways, I think I've become someone else during these Games. Before I would never even think about hurting a fly. But tonight I'm prepared to kill.

Actually, kill isn't the right word. _Murder_. Tonight, I will murder.

I will murder for my sister. For my pride. And for my life.

**Cheyenne's POV**

I stand atop a mount of sand that overlooks the entire area. I think I feel the wind blowing in my hair. I think my foot is still numb. And I think I see Violet approaching to my left and Krow to my right. But I'm too concentrated on what I'm going to do when the food drops from the sky—or however it's arriving.

I'll roll expertly down from my sand mount, pointing my arrow at anyone who dare attack me. Including Krow. Of course I won't shoot him, and probably not anyone else, it'll all only be for show. But it'll be a show at least.

Now in front of me Odyss is impending. We've all come from different ends of the jungle and join in a diamond formation around the middle of the desert. I'm not sure if any of the others can see each other or me because there's so much sand swirling around us, the sun is setting and there are no stars and no moon—the only reason _they're _visible to _me_ is because I'm raised above each and every one of them where the sand has less effect.

The sun's just disappearing below the horizon—

I'm the first to see the hovercraft, so I begin my descent down the hill just as the table full of backpacks lands with a _thud_ in the center of us all. I'm ahead of everybody because of the quick start I had. I roll onto my knees and then the balls of my feet, hitting the ground running with my bow already loaded with an arrow. All I have to do is pull back and shoot. But I won't. I refuse to kill anyone more.

Four bright—they must be rigged to glow in the dark just to make it more difficult for anyone to escape—orange backpacks. Each with a number on it for a district. Three. Five. Eleven. Twelve. They're all the same shape and size but the Eleven one which holds a specifically small pouch on the outside. Medicine, maybe? Aside from that they all must contain the same thing. Food. Simply food. And water.

I snatch up my backpack and sling it over my free shoulder just as Violet reaches the table. She's got a sword.

Deciding I don't need someone after me I keep my backpack and only my backpack before dashing back up the sand mount I previously rolled down, my feet sliding down a foot for each two I climb. When I'm at the top I risk a glance back at the other three tributes below me.

Violet, that bitch! She's grabbing the Twelve backpack along with her own! But Krow… Krow's only just getting there, he isn't fast enough, and Violet's turning to face him. She says something. He says something.

I don't even think about what I'm about to do, because Krow is my friend, just like Mara and Alexander and Connor were. I couldn't save them. But maybe I can save him. Maybe I can repay that life I owe. Right now.

I raise the bow and pull back the arrow, aim, and shoot.

**Odyss's POV**

Cheyenne from Three is already scuttling back up to the safety of her little sand hill by the time I get to my backpack. Violet and Krow are exchanging profanities, Violet has two backpacks in one hand and a sword in the other, Krow just a pickaxe, and I'd imagine one of them is about to die. Good. Another I don't have to kill.

I clutch my backpack in my hands, slugging it behind me as an arrow whizzes just right of my ear, only just missing, and then pierces through one of the backpacks Violet's holding, pinning it to the ground. I'm not sure if I was the originally planned target or this backpack was. But it doesn't matter. Because Violet is momentarily taking her attention off Krow to the source—Cheyenne—and I'm able to use this as a distraction to swing my backpack around on backwards, so it won't draw any more attention to me in the night, and disappear silently and swiftly into the jungle.

_Hm hm hm hmm, hm hmm hmm hmmmm…_

**Cheyenne's POV**

I hit the backpack flawlessly. It's the right one to boot; I can see it on her expression even if I am metres and metres away. Now she must know that it won't be as easy for her as she thought.

But she only stares at me for a moment, like I'm not important enough to be a threat, before turning back to Krow. He's acting weird. Shaking his head at me. Waving his arms around. Pointing behind me. Signaling for me to make a break for it.

But if I run Krow could die.

And then _that_ would be my fault, too.

She must think that the reason that I hit the backpack is because of my horrible aim. Horrible aim my butt. I could take that girl any day. And I'm about to prove it.

Thrusting my body down the hill, I don't have time to think twice. I roll and roll through sand until I begin losing momentum, which is when I do the exact same thing I did last time: to my knees, to my feet, already running with my bow at a ready.

But I don't shoot Violet. I'm fast. Faster than most people. So instead I rush past her, scoop her backpack and my arrow up from the ground, and just keep going. If there's medicine in that other smaller pouch like I suspected, then she isn't going to hurt Krow. She's going to follow me. Because if there's medicine in here there's a damn good chance that without it she'll die.

And we wouldn't want that, now would we?

I hear her footsteps behind me and Krow taunting her to come back, stop being a coward, and face him. What, is she scared that she'll get beaten by a District Twelve? But the footsteps pursue me further and further until they're almost right behind me. I can be faster, though.

I've almost made it a third way to the jungle and am completely out of breath when I finally decide running is useless. She's just going to keep chasing me. And she must work in the fields in District Eleven. So she's got stamina. I may be faster, but it's more than likely that she can go for longer than I can.

So I come to a slow, but not a complete stop, turn around on my heels, and point my arrow at her heart. A fatal shot.

"Don't. Move," I order firmly, but my voice is shaky from a combination of fear and exhaustion from running so far. If Alexander could see me now, would he be proud? Would he be proud that I may be risking my life, albeit saving Krow? Or would he think I was foolish? And what about Angelo, my brother, what is _he_ thinking? Is he telling me to just shoot? Or would he consider me as much of a monster that I would consider myself?

So many questions. And not one answer.

We both stand there for a moment in the near-pitch blackness, sand flying in the wind soundlessly around us. Me, pointing my arrow in that fatal shot, and Violet, her sword hanging limply at her side. She's wheezing too.

"You're good," she says. If someone had drunk a vile of venom and lived, that's how they would sound. The way Violet speaks to me right now. "I'll admit it. Now your friend has gotten off free. At least for now." She takes a step towards me, and I draw the arrow further back, my grip loosening on it. Will I be able to kill her if I need to? I'm sure she wouldn't have a problem killing _me_. "But I think I may be just as good."

I give a laugh. It's unstable. Quivering all over the place. "You think so? Attack me, then. We both know you'll have an arrow through your heart before you can kill me."

She acts like she doesn't know it. But she does. I'm certain she does.

"Cheyenne Wells," she says. I'm immediately repulsed at the way her venomous voice spits my name. "District Three. A slight career, but nothing special. Barely any remaining family. Volunteered to save the life of her older brother's fiancé and their unborn baby. Acts tougher on the outside than she is on the inside, and says that she'll kill, when really she wouldn't squish a spider."

I feel like telling her her own life story in return, insulting her just as must along the way, but it's all just stalling the inevitable. There's no point to it.

"Oh, I'll kill you, all right," I mutter. "I'll kill you right here right now, Crouse! Just dare me!"

"Okay. I dare you. I dare you to kill me."

Either she knows me better than I know myself or is just plain stupid. But she's aware that I'm capable of killing her. It's close-range; she wouldn't have the time to dodge it or even lift her pinky finger before she fell lifeless onto the sand. So I pull the arrow back further, the stretching of the material under my fingertips, almost risking breaking the bow. I narrow my eyes. I can do this. I _must_ do this. I have to kill to live.

But what about her family? She must have parents. And they ought to be sitting down before a television somewhere, screaming and crying and begging Cheyenne Wells from District Three not to kill their daughter. That's what Angelo and Jannett would do if the positions were reversed. I don't know how Angelo would live it down if he lost yet another family member to the Capitol's brutal entertainment.

So I can't let my own brother live in that pain.

_Just let go, _I tell myself, fingers clenched around the arrow. _Let go, and you're another step closer to going home. You want to go home, don't you? Or do you want to live in endless darkness forever and die here? _

Connor died so I could live. Alexander died so I could live. Mara died because I was not strong enough to allow her to live. Either I can honor them all and go on, or I can repay my life—

_ No. You will not do that. You will shoot this girl. _

_ But I'm not a monster. _

_ All humans are monsters. Succumb to it before it's the reason you die!_

I've been so immersed in my thoughts I don't notice Violet lunging at me until she's centimeters away. I release the arrow in a panic. It only shoots into the arm that's holding her sword—the other seems to be injured in some way. It's not going to kill her. But I will.

I draw another arrow from my remaining few and load the bow. I pull back without hesitation this time, ready to release upon gaining another chance, but she's lunging again, and she seems to realize with her bad arms it'd be futile with the sword, so it's now lying vulnerable on the ground. I let go of my arrow. It misses her completely, flying off above her head.

We tumble onto the ground, I hear my bow snap in half beneath me and I swear profusely. Shit. That was a darn nice bow.

I find it ironic that I stumble on getting myself into the one thing I totally fail at—hand-to-hand—with the one martial arts expert in the competition. But both her arms are injured. I'll beat her.

Her hands find my hair and she pulls. I scream in pain. So she wants to play it like that then, huh? That's fine. I'm good with that.

I push her off of me, rolling over to where she dropped her sword. But rather than stab her I slice the small pouch off her District Eleven backpack, and break into a run. I'm not running away from her. I'm running away, to kill her. Otherwise she'll catch me before—

Her entire body weight is suddenly pressed against my back and I belly-flop onto the sand. I wave her sword in the air praying that I'll hit something like her head, because my vision is blinded by her hair, and I get a sufficient cry of agony. Not death, but enough for her to pause to examine the wound, wherever that is. When she faults this way I rip open the small pouch that was just attached to the backpack. A syringe. It can't hurt me anymore than I already am so I jab the thing into my arm and push the plunger down until the entire liquid has disappeared into my bloodstream. Violet doesn't realize what I've done until it's written in stone, and I smirk. She's yelling multiple curses at me. But I keep that smirk on my face, just for Alexander.

"You dared me."

Her fist crunches my nose. Blood drips into my mouth, the smell metallic and taste nauseating. A broken nose won't be a gaffe to me. Not now. I bring my knee up and jam it into her stomach. Hard. I hear the wind being knocked straight out of her lungs in a deep and long exhale, and she falls to my side. I grab the sword and stand above her, panting.

"CHEYENNE!" Krow's voice hurriedly yells from behind Violet. I look up to see him running at a slow pace; almost jogging I'd say, towards us. "You're a moron. You could've gotten killed."

I laugh, a genuine one, which is a weird and unfamiliar but nice feeling, and jump over Violet, letting the sword drop behind me. She looks nearly unconscious. I'll deal with her later, because right now I can't be bothered.

Embracing Krow in a hug I spin him around and look at him. He's safe. In one piece. And so am I. Maybe I could repay that last life without dying after all. Maybe we can both be safe for once in these Games. Even if it's only for a moment. And that moment, _this_ moment, is worth the world to me.

He starts talking about how we can't stay together for long. There'll be three of us left in just moments. And we have to let things be and whatever is going to happen happen for the rest of the competition.

I'm about to agree when I see a silver flash streaking across the dark air behind Krow. It's slicing in his direction. It's about to hit him. But, no! I just saved him! I can't let this happen!

I push him with all the force I have out of the way of the blade, but that uses up so much time that I don't have time to evade it myself. I feel it dig deep into my abdomen. I see Violet grabbing her Eleven backpack and running cowardly away. I hear Krow screaming incoherent words and sounds. I taste the blood in my mouth. I feel my body hit the ground, sand beneath me.

But now Krow's face is blurring from my vision. I can no longer hear his protests. And _now_ I can't even feel the sand between my fingers.

How did she—I thought she was—why—

I can't even think lucidly.

But Alexander! And Connor and Mara! I've done the opposite of honoring their deaths: I've disgraced them. They let me live just so I could die in the end anyways.

And Angelo and Jannett will be devastated. I'll never meet my niece or nephew or get to find out if it's a girl or boy. I'll never be there to worry about them twelve years from now on reaping day or to sneak them out for ice cream when Angelo and Jannett are strict, or even hold them when they're born.

I only hope they don't get chosen for the Games. I hope they break the Wells tradition.

But at least, I think distantly, at least I don't owe anyone anything anymore. It's all repaid. Repaid with my life.

"Tell them," I say bit by bit to Krow. The taste of blood is overpowering, and he's knelt beside me, my hand in his, listening fixedly. "Tell them I love them."

And with that I feel myself slip away.

**A/N: I know there are a lot of you Cheyenne fans. **

**So please d****on't kill me. **


	57. Suffering

**A/N: I can't thank you guys enough for your support through this. You really don't know how much it means to me when someone leaves a review. Y****ou guys are amazing. And 40 votes on the poll? If just half of that are reading this I would be above and beyond satisfied. **

**Suggested listening:**

**It Ends Tonight, All-American Rejects**

**You Found Me, The Fray**

**Violet's POV**

Fighting has taken all the energy out of me. I stumble into the jungle after running frantically away from Cheyenne's dead body just before I collapse onto the ground. My body has gotten worse. There are now yellow bumps all over my skin resembling my sister's.

I reach into my backpack and rummage around for a canteen. My hand feels too weak, too shaky, so I dump all the items out onto the ground haphazardly. There's a rather large canteen within them and it finds itself to be very helpful as the contents rush down my throat refreshingly, giving me the strength to stand up and walk. Will Krow come after me, I wonder? I got a good head start, but I'll have to keep moving.

My legs are wandering clumsily over the rough terrain. I can't find my footing. The world is spinning. My bones feel like they're all just waiting for the right moment to crack into brittle pieces.

If Krow _is_ following me, I don't want to collapse here and wait for him to kill me. So with my last bit of strength for the night I heave myself into a tree, weaponless, and eat a piece of bread somewhat contentedly. There's a lot in the backpack: an entire loaf of bread, an apple and a banana and a pear, two large canteens and iodine solution, a block of cheese, five strips of beef, and eight crackers. I set it all out before me on the thick branch I'm sitting on, rationing it out for five day's worth. There can't be more five days left in the games. There can't be.

If I can make it to the final two, maybe I can last out the disease in this tree, eating and drinking. Then I can, I don't know, throw the apple down on someone's head and knock them out long enough for me to climb down and stab them with a stick or something….

I'm hopeless.

**Krow's POV**

Eventually I have to leave and let the hovercraft take Cheyenne's corpse away. But not before I rearrange her body in a semi-peaceful position on the sand, remove the sword, and make a split second decision to place my own district ring on her finger. It's one of the last things that remind me of my father. But Cheyenne deserves it. I would be dead, twice, if it wasn't for her.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save her," I tell her family. I think I may be crying a little, but I refuse to believe that. I'm Krow. I'm one of the stronger. I'm from District Twelve and I'm in the final three in the Hunger Games.

I don't cry.

My eyes flicker briefly in acknowledgment to the abandoned syringe lying on the ground. Cheyenne stabbed it into her arm for some reason; I could see the microscopic hole in her upper muscles. Was that why Violet ran after her? Because Cheyenne had taken the one thing that she needed most?

If so, then Violet is just as dead as Cheyenne. She isn't going to find that antidote anywhere else in the arena. The Gamemakers will make sure of that. Actually, _I'll _make sure of that. For Cheyenne.

As I head off in the direction Violet took off in, seeing the hovercraft whoosh silently over my head and then retrieve her body, I clean off the blade that Cheyenne was killed with. Her blood stains my shirt which is already caked with mud and sand and my own blood.

Violet may be dead, but what about Odyss? I should be worried about beating him now. I could sneak up from behind him, or steal his backpack, or—

Who am I kidding? My plans rarely work out anyways.

I'll let whatever happen, happen.

—

"_Psst. Eh. You. Eh__!" _

_ I__ turn around to look at the boy, who can't be more than sixteen, standing behind me. His scruffy brown hair is to his shoulders and his eyes are circled by dark purple rings. He stares at me for a moment but then glances quickly to his left and right, like someone might be watching. But nobody's here. It's eleven at night just outside the baker's house on a Monday night—I'm just making my way back from the Hob from trading one of my rabbits for some thin lamb stew. Everyone else in the district must be asleep by now._

_"Krow Haliss, right?" _

_I stare at him uncertainly. I've never seen this boy in my life. Not even at school. "Who's asking?"_

_ The boy sticks out one of his dirt-encrusted hands. "Tylan Wallersee."_

_Shaking his hand with a firm grip, I decide he's no harm and say, "Krow Haliss. What do you want?" _

_ He looks around again. "You hunt."_

_My heart pounds harder than my pickaxe against coal in the mines lately. How does this guy that I've never met before in my life, Tylan Wallersee, know that I hunt? By the way he's looking around I can tell that he's worried someone might overhear us—Peacekeepers—so he must mean how I illegally go outside the fence that contains District Twelve. What else could he mean?_

_"Your point?" I ask, arms crossing defensively over my chest. A risky answer, but necessary. It's to establish I'm the one in control. Kind of like with animals._

_ "I'd like to make you a deal, eh?__"_

_ "Yeah?" I say. "What's that?"_

_"I steal." His voice lowers to such a pitch that I can barely hear him. "Every Sunday I steal two loaves from the baker. Every Monday I take three bottles of milk from the mayor's doorstep before he even realizes his weekly delivery is there. On Wednesdays when the butcher is takin' the trash out at six, I sneak in and grab an entire turkey or slab of beef or somethin'."_

_I only stare at Tylan. He steals, huh? At first I find it almost offending—but then I remember that not everyone knows how to use a knife successfully, and still has mouths to feed back home. And that breaking the law by going outside our restrictions of the district isn't much more respectful than taking three bottles of milk from someone who won't miss them a lot. _

_"How do you know I hunt?" I question._

_He gestures to my forearm, which is currently covered with a ratty old jacket to keep me warm from the snow and dry air, but I know what he means. I have a scar there. A scar I received from a wild dog. While I was, of course, hunting. _

_ "I know a wild dog bite when I see o__ne._

_ "__Look 'ere. If you get me sufficient meat each week then I'll steal an extra loaf of bread and extra milk just for you, eh? I can get berries too, an' grains an' corn an' carrots from Carla Granger's garden. I know how to avoid her watchdogs, yeah?"_

_ Suspicions race through my mind. He steals. How can I trust someone who steals? How can I be sure that he's not going to go ahead and not fill his own end of the deal?_

You want to feed your family, don't you?_ I ask myself. Of course we're just slipping by now, my mother and my three younger sisters and I—a squirrel or rabbit here and there, and I know a blueberry bush on the outskirts of the district which is the only fruit we've ever known. But bread? And vegetables? We've never been as privileged, my family, since my father died. _

_ His dirty hand comes my way again. "You willin' to make a deal?"_

_I stare at the hand. Shaking that will be my acceptance to the offer. _

_ "If you back out," I tell him __tightly, "then I'm going to be informing the Peacekeepers of… your habit."_

_"I wouldn' expect less. You just best doin' your side as much as me, eh? Works both ways."_

_ Hesitantly, I__ shake his hand._

—

I smile at the thought of Tylan. My best friend. Really, my only friend. Our deal has turned out to be more than a deal—it's more like a strong friendship now, where we only _want_ to support the other's family. I'm sure that's what he's doing at this very moment. I'm sure that he's making sure that my sisters don't starve while I compete for my life.

I chew a rough piece of beef. If I win, then we won't have to worry about that at all anymore. We'll be filthy rich. Neither of our families will worry about starvation ever again.

_If_ I win.

Don't count your chickens before your eggs hatch.

**Odyss's POV**

Cheyenne dies at the feast. Not Krow or Violet. Cheyenne.

Which I find odd. She had that bow and arrow and she could have picked off every single one of us from atop that hill. But instead she dies? How does that work out?

I munch on a bread crust and half a piece of jerky for breakfast. I'm going to make this last at least until the final two. Then I'll use it as my strength to win it—win it for my Jacklyn.

For now I guess I should probably find a weapon, or at least make a spear like Ebony did. Cheyenne had a bow and arrows. Violet a sword. And Krow a beaten-up pickaxe. Either they all found the Cornucopia or the sponsors are especially rich this year.

Wielding a spear from a long branch, I hum to myself. I've found that the tune that _Just Keep Walking_ went to fits rather a lot of words, and I'm able to find a wide assortment of new songs to sing to. Like, _Just Keep Working_ and _Just Keep Running_ and _Just Keep Killing._ I haven't gotten up to using that last one yet, but maybe eventually I will. Maybe I can hum to it if I win the Games. I'll have to kill off Krow and/or Violet first. I can do a surprise attack thing on the Eleven and just charge at the Twelve.

But I'll probably just end up letting them come to me.

I'm quite bored, sitting here in the middle of the jungle eating bread and jerky and carving a spear. What to do, what to do?

I'll remember the tributes that have died, I think suddenly. Pay my respects to them. They deserve at least that. My remembrance.

District One… they weren't as strong as they usually are. The guy was, maybe, I guess. Keith. What-ta career. Just not the sharpest knife in the drawer. And Tiffany seemed clever, because she outlasted her district partner and even some of the other stronger competitors, but I suppose that doesn't matter since she died anyways.

District Two. Trafford and Marina. They had a lot of chemistry it looked like, but more like a brother-sister kind of thing. Like Ebony and me, except they were much closer in age.

And then Cheyenne and Connor. District Three usually isn't the toughest bunch, but Cheyenne was some major competition. She seemed like she trained for these Games for a part of her life. Connor was strong too, I guess, when you only look at him and not someone like Keith. But not strong enough.

Oh, District Four. Alexander and Ariel. Maybe they had the best chances of winning—Alexander being a descendant of Finnick and Ariel being evil—but I'm pretty sure the other was their destruction. Plus, their arguing was my main source of entertainment. I don't think I'll ever forget the names I heard Ariel screech at Alexander sometimes during training.

District Five. Me. And Ebony. She was sweet. Reminded me of Jacklyn, a _lot_. But I guess that younger girls like her just don't survive for long in the Hunger Games. I guess she had it coming from the start.

District Six. Liam was my temporary ally, except when my life was on the line. He was smart. But I knew that if he got the chance he would've stabbed me in the back. And Nikole—I don't really remember much about her besides the fact that she was a stupid career in one of the smartest districts and threw up at the mention of honey.

Bridger from Seven was probably one of my favorite people in the Games, even if he wasn't a potential ally. His hauteur to the Gamemakers made me respect him more than he'll ever know. And Ryli… she _was_ my ally. But she must have run away during that fight with Violet and Trawny and Ebony, and then died somehow. I should feel remorse. But while I had begun to trust her and consider her loyal, she abandoned us when we were about to die.

Robert and Mara from District Eight were one of the most different pairs of tributes. Robert was cocky and completely arrogant, and Mara likable and humble in everything she did. She lasted awfully long in these Games for the kind of female tribute she was.

And I'm pretty sure Nicholas from Nine had a thing for Bambi. He never stood a chance to be honest, with Bambi _or_ to win the Games. Bambi had a good chance at winning; sponsors must have come easily with her looks and unlikely strength. But she died. And that's all that counts.

Zed and Victoria. Like the Fours, another cause of entertainment. Victoria was just about in love with Zed—well, more so obsessed—and Zed paid her no attention. Even in their interview, which they took together, he just stormed off the stage and refused to be interviewed with her.

Trawny and Violet from Eleven had that brother-sister thing going like Ebony and me. Except I found Ebony to be a lot more strong than Trawny. And Violet's still alive, but I'll deal with that later.

Caitlin from Twelve was a spoiled brat in the likes of District Twelve. She died on the first day, which didn't surprise me, while her district partner Krow has lasted as long as I have so far. But of course one of us has to die, if not both. I'm just not sure who it'll be yet.

I stare at my spear, inspecting the fine point, that question lingering in my mind.

_Who will it be?_

**Violet's POV**

Over the night, my injuries have only gotten worse. Noticeably worse. I wake up barely able to open my eyes because of the bumps covering my face. If I move I'm afraid I'll break something. So I stay suspended in my tree, breathing erratically and chewing on my food and drinking my water. Any attempt to get out of this tree would just be fruitless. I'm in no shape to do any shit right now.

I'm dying, I realize with a choked sob. Like my sister, but at an increased rate. I'm going to die because the Capitol said so. Because they want to see my family suffer more than regularly, seeing both their daughters die the same horrible death.

Everything about me is aching. It feels like I ran around the desert for a day and caught a bad case of sunburn, fell off a cliff, and then got stabbed. And it isn't like the nightmares about Ariel have stopped. And now Cheyenne and Zed are there too, and while Ariel peels off my flesh they stand in the background laughing. Cheyenne and Ariel have a knife through their stomachs. And Zed has that stick I killed him with through his eye.

Trawny even made a guest appearance last night, asking me why I couldn't save him. I tried to talk to him to explain why I couldn't but suddenly blood was pouring out of his mouth and the main antagonist, Ariel, was standing behind him smiling with dirt between her teeth.

Then I woke up.

I've drunk an entire canteen full of water today, but my mouth is still parched. I've eaten the banana and apple and all of the bread, but my stomach is seemingly bottomless. I can't move. I'm perched in this tree, hovering gingerly over the line between life and death.

And that's when I hear footsteps. I'm not sure whether to bother to be quiet or just approach my death with a head start, but before I can think twice about it, one of my apples rolls off the branch and hits Krow Haliss's shoulder.


	58. Just Keep Killing

**A/N: Next chapter we'll ****have a victor. Then there will be an epilogue of the victor's life. I'm leaning towards the ten years later approach.**

**It has also been suggested that I make a 'kill sheet****' type of thing by Nice Career. That will be included in the epilogue. And then… basically, that'll be it. **

**Anyways, enjoy! (:**

**Suggested listening:**

**Savin' Me, Nickelback **

**What Hurts the Most, Rascal Flatts**

**Krow's PO****V**

At first I think that I'm standing below an apple tree, but when I look up, I see Violet. The sunlight is illuminating her figure: it definitely isn't good, this sickness she's caught. Ugly yellow bruises cover her flesh. Her eyes are bloodshot, and her body is shaking and convulsing slightly.

"Krow," she rasps. It sounds like someone's strangling her as she speaks. "Help me."

I have the urge to laugh, it's the Hunger Games and she's asking for help, until I realize how rude and uncaring it would be. This girl is dying. She's asking for help. Which I cannot possibly give her even if I wanted to—I don't know how to heal whatever the hell's she's got.

So I stand there, under her tree, waiting.

"Kill me," she murmurs softly, casually, like she's asking me if I have any spare sugar she could borrow. "Please. Kill me."

Suddenly her body rolls off to the side of the branch she's balancedon, and she tumbles the small distance between her and the ground. She lands on her back, and I hear a _crack_ noise. Her mouth opens. But she doesn't scream. It doesn't look like she has the strength to scream.

"You _want_ me to kill you?" I ask. I mean, I understand that she's suffering. But what if it was possible for her to outlast the disease? What if it was possible for her to overcome it, and win the Games? And what about her family? What must they be thinking?

"Yes. I do. But please don't make it last very long."

I can only stare.

**Violet's POV**

Twelve just stares at me like I've lost my sanity. He doesn't even reply when I tell him I _do_, in fact, want him to kill me. The way he looks at me, it's like he's lost whatever remaining respect he had for me—which, truthfully, couldn't be a lot. He's thinking that I'm asking him to kill me because it all hurts too much. Because I can't stand the pain. But I can, I _can_ stand the pain, if it wasn't that my baby sister went through the exact same thing.

My family can't take both of their daughters dying of this disease. They can't. I know it. And I won't let that happen to them.

"Help me," I say, trying to make it sound tough, but it just comes out as wobbly and pathetic. "And kill me."

He goes on staring.

I remember my sister's last words to me. _I know I'm going to die, but I'm going to come back as a bird and watch over you. That's okay, right? _And I instantaneously know, without one single uncertainty or doubt in my mind, that I need him to do this. I _need_ him to kill me. If I die from this fatal disease as my sister did, I know that I've truly been defeated, and so has she. But if I defy it and die by another hand, Krow, then I have at least ended it strong and brave.

Even if nobody but me and my parents will know my reasoning.

"Are you… are you sure?" he whispers.

I wonder if he's hesitant to kill or if he's just taken off guard by my request, but I attempt a nod, but end up failing miserably because I can hardly move any part of myself. I just go, "Please."

Slowly, he bobs his head up and down. "How?"

"I don't care. Fast. For my family."

Krow seems to understand that demand easily, because he goes on with the head bobbing and bends over on his knees beside me. "Would you like me to count, or to just do it?"

"Just do it."

I see the sword that killed Bambi and Cheyenne catch the last, beautiful sunlight I will ever see as it rapidly heads in my heart's direction. I shut my eyes, awaiting the pain. And it greets me like pain usually does: it's immense at first, but it gradually fades away to almost nothing. I open my eyes to Krow standing up and brushing the soil off his knees. But he's blurring. The sunlight is vanishing. Everything is evaporating, right before my eyes, including the pain.

The last thing I hear is a bird chirping.

**Odyss's POV**

A cannon goes off in the morning. Thank goodness, I begin to think, but then I remember where I am. Who I am. Why I'm here.

I am Odyss. I am in the final two in the 150th Hunger Games. I can either kill, or be killed.

Lovely.

During the day I sharpen two more spears and three rocks that fit nicely in the palm of my hand, waiting for the anthem to pop up and tell me who's dead. I'm hoping it's Violet. I don't know if I could be as brutal with a girl as I could be with a guy—and in the end that ruthlessness is going to help me win. Or lose. Depending on who's died.

By the time night falls I've been so busy making weapons I've only drunk a couple sips out of one of the canteens and eaten half of a pear. But that's good, I decide. I'm conserving my food. I'm going to need it when it comes down to the big fight between me and… Krow it is, then. Violet's smiling face lights up the sky, and the cheeriness of it all doesn't belong here. That face should belong to a child who is safe from the reapings for another year. Not to someone who has fought to their death.

I curl up on the ground in a bed of leaves—the Gamemakers want a final show, so I doubt they'd send any poisonous animals after me or get a natural disaster to push Krow and me together in the middle of the night. I'm comfortable for one of the first times in the past month. I savor this moment. The smell of dirt and leaves. The calmness and quiet—a bird is twittering somewhere in the distance, and it just soothes me even further. I think how this is almost a perfect moment, if only my family could share it with me, when I realize something.

That chirping bird is getting closer and closer to me.

It could be a coincidence. It could be simply a bird going for a midnight stroll. But in the Hunger Games? I don't think so.

So I get up from my bed of leaves and start running. Now that it's much closer, I can tell it's more like a _caw_ rather than a _chirp_. And as I look up in the sky, trying not to run straight into a tree trunk, I notice that it's a huge bird. The wings alone are the size of myself, head to toe.

It flies above me for a while, cawing and piercing through the air, when it suddenly makes a sharp turn backwards and then dives down out of my sight. I keep running, when I abruptly remember something. _My backpack._

That's my life source. Without that I'm going to die. There's no way around it.

So I turn around and race back to where I had set up camp—if you could call it that–because if that bird finds that backpack, and steals it—

I'm dead.

I run faster than I think I've run in my life, and although the wind is against me my feet don't pound the ground any less and my arms don't move any slower, because this is just one more obstacle I have to get through to win, to survive, to see Jacklyn again, and I can overcome it.

I see my bed of leaves, my backpack and the bird, who is picking my lasting foundation of survival up into its strong beak that could probably peck a hole in my head if it tried, flapping the long, brown wings to take off into the sky. And I can't help it—I have eaten barely anything all day just to preserve that food, and this bird is about to take it away from me—when I throw myself at the backpack. I manage to get a good grasp onto the straps just as the bird takes off, taking me with it.

**Krow's POV**

I'm sleeping when I hear a scream from above me. Deep inside I realize that I killed Violet, and there is only one person in this arena that would be able to scream besides me. And that's Odyss.

I open my eyes to a bird soaring over my head, and something that looks very similar to Odyss hanging off one of the legs, or hanging onto something that's hanging on the legs. At first I'm worried he's going to fall right off and right near me, and we'd have to do the final fight _now_, but they go off until I can no longer see them.

But that sight stays in my mind. Odyss, screaming, flying through the air. I can't help but laugh.

That catches me off guard. _Laugh. _I _laughed. _I stop myself, and then, remembering what a nice feeling it is, I recall that memory of Odyss and laugh for a second time. I chortle a little more, but then it forcefully stops for some reason. Maybe because I might be dying soon? I don't know, but I do know that I want to laugh again. That was the best feeling I've had since… since before Mara died, while we were playing that berry game. I blink back more unsuspecting tears and lie down in my tree, hopefully concealed from the cameras by the shadows of the branches that are falling onto my light skin. It's weird—no, cruel—how the Capitol can make something like laughing into a privilege.

—

I wake up in the morning with no pillow. I mean, not actually a _pillow. _But my backpack. I'm sure that before I went to sleep, I had placed my backpack behind my neck for some mild relief. I'm _positive._ But as I look around my branch, my backpack is nowhere to be seen. And as I lean over to glimpse at the ground the bright orange thing isn't there either. So it didn't fall off… but then what?

Blinking a few times to make sure I'm fully awake I clamber down the trunk and hop onto the soil. No orange speck catches my eye. No splash of vibrant color is anywhere in this jungle. The hell? Where's my food?

The scene of Odyss hovering above me in the middle of the night resounds in my memory. But he wouldn't have just stolen my backpack, because if I was in that tree it would have been an easy murder. Why didn't he kill me while I wasn't in a conscious and aware state and just win it? He had to know if he didn't kill me then, even if he _did_ steal my backpack, we would still be pushed together before I could starve or thirst to death. The Gamemakers would probably make that happen.

Unless, of course, it wasn't Odyss that stole my backpack. What if the Gamemakers sent something, an animal, to steal it away in the night when I wouldn't notice? What if they just wanted to spice things up a bit after Violet's mercy kill?

I sigh and turn away from the tree I spent the night in. No edible plants to find. No animals to hunt. Just me and Odyss.

Oh man.

**Odyss's POV**

After I hung onto my backpack for a while, the bird dipping and diving at almost impossible angles to try and shake me off, the thing ultimately had the upper hand and was able to fly close to a tree and dash up just in time for it to miss the canopy of leaves, while I got shoved through the branches. This broke my grip on the backpack and sent me tumbling through the sharp twigs and to the ground.

In a rage of fury, when it's all over and I've inspected myself for any serious injuries, I pick up a branch and chuck it at a tree trunk like by doing so I can get my food back. The Gamemakers. Taking away the last chance I have of survival just after handing it to me—not to mention the fact that now I don't even have a freaking spear or sharpened rock because I don't know where my old resting point is.

I go around for a bit in my breakdown mode, the way I was when I saw Ebony die, kicking and punching and throwing things, including myself, around until I've released most of the anger inside of me. I'm breathing heavily, panting, and I can't help but think of how everything I do just gets more and more stupid. First I run away from the bird without my backpack. Then I hang onto that backpack, hoping to get it down. But that just leaves me with less than I had before. And then, even though I don't have water to cool me off or give me strength, I still get in a proper workout by beating up both animate and inanimate objects.

But when I've stopped taking my anger out on everything within my reach I pick up a rock and start to sharpen it. This will be one of my last days in the arena. Whether I leave it alive or dead is mainly up to me.

_Just Keep Killing, Just Keep Killing, Just Keep Killing…_


	59. Victor?

**A/N: It was extremely difficul****t for me to write this chapter. I'm sorry if it doesn't meet the standards for a final battle. But I hope you all like it nevertheless. **

**Suggested listening:**

**You're Gonna Go Far, Kid, The Offspring (Explicit content)**

**Remember the Name, Fort Minor (**_**Explicit**_** content)**

**Gah, I hate suggesting songs with swears. But I feel they go well with the chapter. Listen to them or not, I did when I wrote this.**

**Krow's POV**

I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. And as I sit on the cliff looking over the dreary grey ocean I can't help but feel sadness bathe me. I really do miss my family. My sisters. My mother. Tylan. Seeing Shrike around. But looking back to that reaping day, would I take it back? Would I take back volunteering for Shrike's brother?

No. I probably wouldn't. I don't regret what I did—even if I do die today. Because instead of going down forgotten as a boy from the Seam I'm going down as a boy who volunteered to help the girl he's in love with.

I just realized how cheesy that is.

Whatever. Cheesy schmeezy, the Capitol must love it. They must love sacrifices. They must just _relish_ in watching Connor die for Cheyenne, and Mara die for me and Cheyenne, and then Cheyenne die for me. All of the lives she was holding—all of the allies deaths that she'd witnessed—are now placed on my shoulders. If I can't win this for Cheyenne, I can't win it for Mara or Connor either. And _that_ would mean I have truly failed.

My fingers run over the cliff I'm sitting on. The surface is rough and rocky and sharp, almost painful to touch. I've decided that if the Gamemakers want a show, then they can get Odyss to come to me. This is a general enough point to push the Five to, this cliff above the water, and I'm sure it'll make for an interesting final bloodbath. As of now I'm just too lazy to get up and look for him. I want my last day to be spent in semi-peacefulness. Anything else would be too much.

Today, there is no sun. I woke up near the desert and those nice white clouds that were hung in the sky days ago were gone, replaced by slight grey strips that could barely be considered as clouds. These dull things have extended over the jungle throughout the day and now they're coming over my cliff and the ocean. But these clouds won't intimidate me; I stay seated on this rocky overhang. Even when it begins to rain, I refuse to move. I refuse to get up and take cover in the jungle. I refuse to hide from this.

I watch as the smooth, shiny surface of the ocean slowly begins to get destroyed by small choppy waves. They soon turn into big and menacing waves, but still I sit. They haven't reached the cliff yet. And when, if, they do that's when I'll take the effort to stand up and conceal myself in the trees. But not now. Now, I am relaxed.

**Odyss's POV**

I dig a hole in a cactus with one of my sharpened rocks until I find the smallest portion of water. It helps, somewhat, but I'm still thirsty.

It doesn't really matter, though. The Gamemakers don't want a tribute dying from starvation in the final two. How boring and disappointing would _that_ be for their audience?

It begins to rain in the desert so I take cover in the jungle for a little. But then I see lightning and it starts pouring there, too, and so I'm being forced out and towards that beach area where Ryli and Ebony and I got attacked by evil goldfish. I wonder what Jacklyn was thinking when that happened? I wonder if she was crying, hoping only that I wouldn't die?

I wonder if she's thinking that now, as well.

Only small drops of rain get through the thick canopy of leaves above me. This place, this jungle, would be a beautiful place if it wasn't for the destruction that has happened within it. If it wasn't for the many deaths of innocent children, then I would be able to enjoy this moment. Then I would be able to look at the nice flowers and tall trees and consider this a vacation away from herding animals back in District Five. But for all I know a tribute could've been murdered, tortured, on the very spot I stand on, and have everything they've ever done squashed into meaningless nothing, forgotten with the other thousands that've died.

"Don't think about that," I tell myself. "Just think about getting home."

I try to make that fit my usual tune of song but it won't work. And _just keep thinking_ is too vague. That could mean anything. So I resort to the usual _just keeping going, just keep walking, just keep going, just keep walking. _

My stomach may as well be as loud as the thunder I'm so hungry. I don't trust eating anything anymore. Not the leaves off the trees or the bark or even the dirt, because any one of those could be poisoned. I mean, who knows? The air could be poisoned.

I walk for hours on end and the rain doesn't let up. Neither does the lightning or the thunder. But I keep thinking I can outrun it by walking further and further away from the desert where it started, and deeper and deeper into the jungle until I'm not in the jungle anymore, but on that cliff that Ryli and Ebony and I first found when I was so convinced there was more to the arena than jungle and desert.

But I'm not alone here. Because sitting in front of me is the main obstacle between me winning and surviving and seeing Jacklyn again and me dying. And I'm about to defeat it.

Krow.

**Krow's POV**

I hear Odyss before he sees me. His feet crunch loudly over the gravel. But I don't turn around immediately. I wait until they stop and I hear something cutting through the air, and then I push myself off the cliff and onto a ledge layered with moss, narrowly avoiding a spear made out of a stick and a really thin and sharp rock.

My pickaxe is mainly just the pick part now; the handle is so short I'm scarcely able to hold it with my hand. So I pick this spear up too while I jump down the grey rocks until I've reached the sand. I get to knee-deep water when I hear his footsteps splashing through behind me, and I turn around and swing my pickaxe.

He dodges it easily while getting a jab at my calf with another one of his sharp spear things, and I fault for a moment, stopping to try to examine the severity of the wound. But the water is too murky to see anything through it.

I swing my pickaxe again and this time it clashes with his spear, snapping it right in half. The part with the rock strung to it falls into the waves and disappears to the bottom, and surely he knows that the time it'd take him to pick it up would be the time it'd take me to kill him, so instead he lunges with simply the wooden stick pointed at my heart. His face is flushed red with anger, and his movements are slowed by the water, so I manage to duck and sidestep while swinging out his own spear to knock him down.

He stumbles, but doesn't fall, and the spear breaks. I grimace as I see the broken weapon heading my way again and this time I dive straight through the saltwater until we're in deeper. Odyss is taller and stronger, so he can probably swim faster and tread longer. And I can't help but speculate if this is going to turn out horrible. If I'm going to die in a few moments. But I don't feel like I have too much of a choice.

The pickaxe is much harder to lug and swing in the water. But after some struggle between us I'm able get a nice hook on his shoulder blade and pull, the tearing of flesh and a scream of pain ringing in my ears. While he's distracted I put a hand to my open calf which is burning from the salt and see that it's spurting blood like there's no tomorrow. Swearing, I quickly swing the pickaxe again. But Odyss is faster. He dips under a wave and I lose track of him, the water now so deep that I can't feel the ground with my feet.

I try to see through the foggy water for just a glimpse of a shadow, anything really, but by then it's too late. His hand wraps around my ankle and pulls me down with him, and I take one last gulp of air before being submerged.

**Odyss's POV**

After pulling Twelve under with me I punch him in the face. The crack must be stifled by the water, but a satisfactory amount of blood begins trailing out of his nose. Serves him right for taking half of my upper back and shoulder off with his pickaxe thing.

_Just Keep Fighting, Just Keep Fighting…_

I'm about to full-out tackle him and attempt at drowning the guy when something that clearly isn't Krow bites onto my ankle and starts to pull me down. Both of my ankles, actually, and something is nipping at my raw, skin-less shoulder. I try to scream out in pain but I'm greeted by water, not air. It fills my mouth, my throat, my lungs, and just when I'm struggling against this mysterious force so much I don't think I can take it any longer Krow grabs my wrist and heaves me up to the surface.

Gasping in air, I examine him. What a weird kid. He had the chance to kill me without really doing anything, and instead he saves my life. I'd call him an idiot but that would be kind of selfish considering I would still be down there if it wasn't for him.

_Just Keep Breathing, Just Keep Breathing…_

"They're trying to kill us," he tells me panting, momentarily getting pulled under the water by a wave. For the first time I notice how far away from the shore we've swum, and I know that _that_ can't be good. The Gamemakers wouldn't let us go out this far. They're too paranoid for that.

"What is?" I ask. But then I see a glimpse of bright gold jump across the water towards the back of Krow's head and I swing my broken spear at it. It splashes back down, the fish, and Krow raises his eyebrow at me as if to inquire if he really must explain further. I shake my head.

"They're trying to kill _both_ of us," he says while hooking his weapon around some of the rabid animals eating the flesh at my back. "If _either_ wants to get out of this alive then we're going to have to work together. Okay?"

He can't be lying, I realize. Because even if he is going to stab me in the back the first minute I turn around there is no way he would be able to make it all the way back to shore alive with the fish everywhere. He seems like a smart kid. He has to know that.

"Okay," I say nodding, an abrupt agreement. Krow begins to swim with saying nothing more and I follow pursuit, until the fish start gnawing on the open wound Krow caused with the pickaxe. It's difficult to turn around and whack them off with my broken spear, but I don't have to worry. Krow helps me, the point of the weapon taking all of them off in one swing. I thank him nearly inaudibly and continue swimming.

_Just Keep Swimming, Just Keep Swimming…_

By the time my feet are able to touch the ground I'm bleeding heavily from every part of my body. My back mostly, but the fish have eaten away some skin on my thighs and ankles—making it tricky to run—my jugular, and even one of my wrists. I can't say Krow is in a worse state. He has that cut I gave him on his lower leg, his nose is bleeding, and his index finger and thumb are just hanging on by a thread from when three fish simultaneously attempted to bite off his hand, but other than that he seems all right. At least he didn't get a pickaxe to his shoulder.

We reach shore, the gross rocky sand squishing between my toes. My shoes had come off sometime during the swim away from the radical animals to the shore, but that doesn't matter. It just adds to the facts that I'm starving and thirsty and half of my upper back is torn off.

_Just Keep Running, Just Keep Running…_

Neither of us slows our pace. Well, I guess I do a little, but it's only because of my bad ankles. I hear the bodies of the fish flopping onto the sand behind me and just as Krow is climbing the steep up to safety, I remember something. He isn't my teammate. These are the Hunger Games. One of us is going to die today. And I've been hoping for months that it won't be me, and I'm sure so are my mother and little sister back at home. And I can't let them down. I won't let them watch me die.

So I stab him in the back. Not literally or anything, but just as I get as high as him on the cliff I stick out my leg and send him plummeting back down to the fish. Only a few have reached him, and unfortunately I can see that he waves around his weapon with ease and fends them off. But the others will get to him before he has time to climb again. I have experience with that if nobody else.

_Just Keep Climbing, Just Keep Climbing…_

I see the other fish descend on him and I know it's over. The Gamemakers will make sure he dies slowly, which I suppose I could prevent, but why go back down there and risk my life? There's no rule that says I owe Krow something because he got me away from those fish back there. In fact, the only rule in the Hunger Games is kill to stay alive. And that's what I did. So if anything, I'm _obeying_ the rules.

_Just Keep Killing, Just Keep Killing…_

I don't want to watch Krow die but I don't want to go too far away either. To put it plainly, I'm pooped. All I have left to do is wish that those fish will hurry the hell up and maybe eat one of his more vital organs before I have to sit down here for the rest of the day, longing for the food I had back in the Capitol. Hot chocolate, oranges, lamb stew, those things called lobsters dipped in melted cheese and butter…

_Just Keep Wishing, Just Keep Wishing…_

All of a sudden I can't breathe. Something lodges itself into my back, first sinking through the part that's already been ripped off and then going deeper. I try to gasp in air, but it doesn't come. As I fall backwards onto the rock I see Krow standing above me without the pickaxe in his hands, bloodier than I am, blond hair sticking up at the oddest of angles. I open my mouth to say something, maybe curse him or say goodbye to Jacklyn and my mother, but I can't find the air. It's nowhere. There's no air left for me.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, shaking his head and turning away. How did he get away from those fish? How could he have possibly escaped, when I was so close to going home? When I was so close to getting out of this arena alive and back to my family? I hope at least Jacklyn has turned away from the screen by now—I'm sure my mother probably made her unless she's too upset herself.

With any luck Jacklyn'll get through all of her reapings alive, and then go on to get married, to have kids, to forget about me. To forget the hurt and pain she must be experiencing now, watching her only brother die.

No air comes. I feel myself choking on nothing, coughing, sputtering, to the point where I don't think I can take it anymore.

_Just Keep Living, Just Keep Living…_

But I can't.

I'm enclosed in darkness.

**Krow's POV**

I can't process anything. I know a rather large wave saved me and washed away the fish I was unable to fight. I know I climbed up the cliff and killed Odyss. I can hear someone saying my name, saying I am victor. But it doesn't hit me.

I grab onto the ladder leading up to the hovercraft, frozen there. Not just from the Capitol's technology, but from myself. What just happened? I won? District Twelve won?

I blink at the pink woman who removes the tracker from my arm. I allow them to stick a syringe in my arm. I let them lower me down onto a bed. I stare at all their faces, the faces that have caused the brutal games in which I've won.

But I haven't won.

Nobody wins.


	60. Worth It

**Krow Haliss**

**Ten Years Later**

**Suggested listening:**

**I Dare You to Move, Switchfoot**

**One Day, Maitisyahu **

The only other mentor that District Twelve's had in the past fifty years, besides me, is Gregg. And he died in the Capitol when I was in the Games from a heart attack, leaving the escort to handle further sponsors and technicalities of the sort.

Now I sit in the control room, ignoring the squeals of joy from the new escort we have. Opptunia is rushing around my chair looking at the two surviving tributes on the screens in front of me, saying how we'll have a winner this year and maybe she'll get transferred to one of the nicer districts like One or Four, and then she won't be covered in sooty coal dust a day annually.

Xavier and Rosie, the tributes from Twelve this year, have made it into the final four along with the female from One and the male from Nine. District Twelve has a fifty percent chance of winning and sponsors have been coming in by the bundles. It's now midnight and Rosie sits on watch while Xavier sleeps. Earlier he poured a vial of poison into Rosie's canteen of water, much to my dismay. I've been hoping that she won't drink it until at least one of the other tributes die off—but things never seem to be in my favor.

The eighteen year old girl pushes her long brown hair out of her eyes, whispering quietly to nobody in particular. "You know, Xavier…," she says, even though he may as well be dead lying there. "Only one of us is going to come out of this alive. No matter what we do. And I'm thinking…" She picks up a knife that they retrieved from the Cornucopia, running her fingers lightly over the blade. Opptunia has stopped dancing to stare at the screen in horror and disbelief. I'm frozen. Unable to react.

"I think that if either of us should get out of here, it should be me." And with that Rosie raises the blade above her head and plunges it into the fifteen year old's heart. I scream out something incoherent. I don't even know what I say. But Xavier's eyes are now wide open, looking up at Rosie with betrayal. Opptunia has collapsed onto the ground sobbing into her overly moisturized hands, saying how she's going to be covered in coal dust next year _too_, it's heart wrenching, but I look back at Rosie in astonishment. In disappointment. The way I looked at Xavier when he poisoned Rosie's canteen, although neither can actually see me.

"You'll die too" are Xavier's last words before his cannon sounds and his screen goes dark.

Rosie scoffs at this, and I know that she may as well be dead too. Xavier killed her with the poison.

But she's my tribute. No matter how much she's disobeyed my orders by turning against her district partner, I need to get this girl home. The past eighteen I've had have either died in the bloodbath or hours after when the careers decided to go hunting, and I can't let this hopeful slip away, monster or not. I can't.

So I use some sponsor money to send her a new canteen of water, praying that she'll understand my silent message. She glances at the silver parachute, visibly fazed by a gift she doesn't appear to need. Eventually she tosses it aside, grabs her own canteen, and takes a long drink.

Opptunia cries even harder now, pounding the aluminum floor with her fists, screaming the words _coal _and _dust. _But I can't watch this. I can't watch my last tribute die. I see the realization dawn on Rosie's face just before she clutches her stomach and screams out in pain, but I see nothing else. I turn my chair away from the screen to face the blank brick wall behind me until I hear her cannon. And then I turn back around, help Opptunia off the ground and lead her off to the cafeteria, because I'm sure we both need something to drink at this point.

—

Delph is the only one that brings up Xavier and Rosie when I get home. It's my first dinner back and everyone's here, including my three sisters, Shrike's brother, my mother, Shrike's mother, and Tylan. Cheyenne is throwing green beans at Connor and Shrike is attempting to calm the crying six-month-old Mara by rocking her little baby chair with her toe. When Delph says, "Rosie was my friend," everyone stops what they're doing. Even Mara.

"She wasn't a monster," she tells us, pushing some mashed potatoes around her plate with her fork. "She went crazy in there. I don't know what came over her."

This year was Delph's last reaping. She turns nineteen in a few days and I can tell by the way she isn't calling me Golden Boy or sitting at my regular seat at the head of the dining room table that guilt is getting the best of her. Nobody else knows what to say to this, besides Cheyenne.

"I drew a picture of Rosie! And Zav… Zae… the other boy." She reaches into her pocket, throwing a stray strand of black hair out of her eyes, and holds up the picture high so everyone can see it. There are two stick people, one with hair and one without, and a tree standing next to them amid a sun and clouds in the sky. Once she's sure that everyone has seen it she gives it to Delph. "Rosie is your friend so you can take it."

Even Delph smiles at that. "Thanks."

"No problem, Auntie D." Then she goes back to throwing food at her brother. Everyone talks about the weather the rest of the meal—cold and foggy. And after all of the adults besides Tylan clear the table and throw the dirty plates in the sink, Tylan goes off and plays with the kids showing Cheyenne and Connor how to tie some knots. At first when Shrike and I got married, I refused to have children. Victor's kids often get sent away for the Games themselves and I didn't want to put either of us, let alone our family, through that. It's hard enough watching other peoples' kids die. But Shrike has had dreams of a family since just about ever, and she didn't let up. So ultimately I caved in. And now the best we can do to prevent Cheyenne, Connor and Mara's deaths in the same Games I won is to teach and breed them as careers are—while they're still small we've been teaching them knots, which will soon follow into snares, and then we'll get started on edible plants. We'll have to wait a few years until even the oldest, five-year-old Cheyenne, can master any weapon.

Bonica, who turned twenty days before the latest reaping, comes up to me while I'm drying some dishes. She smirks. "You missed a lot while you were gone."

Usually all I miss is Bonica's sulking and her complaining about how much her life sucks. She never takes the scowl off her face, so this smirk has me a little curious. "Like what?" I question.

"Like, I got engaged."

I place down the dish I was drying and stare at her. Bonica's engaged? She's the one that nobody thought would get married, with her hostile attitude and complete unfriendliness. In fact, I didn't even know she was in a relationship.

"I'll have to meet him," I say, and turn back to the cloth and bowl.

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, _Dad._ Look, I can handle myself, Krow. I don't even know why I told you. I just thought it might, like, help me get _some _attention for once. But I guess not." As she stomps away, I smile. A part of my life ends with each year of the Games, with each soul that I lose. And then a whole new part starts up again back at home, with my family, with my friends.

A few minutes pass before Amelia comes over to help me with the cleaning, and I ask, "Did everyone know that Bonica's engaged but me?"

"Yes," she says. "We met her fiancé a couple days ago. Quite the character, I must say. I can see how Bonica and he would hit it off considering they both have spent equal amounts of their lives completely depressed."

I laugh shortly through my nose. "I bet." And we continue putting the rest of the bowls and plates and cutlery away in silence.

It's nearly midnight by the time everyone leaves. Bonica leaves first, as per usual. Then Amelia and my mother and Shrike's mother, who walk out the door talking about plans for the next family meal. Tylan stays until I force Cheyenne and Mara and Connor to bed, at which time Tylan and I have a manly heart-to-heart chat about this year's Games and then he's gone. Delph and Jay, Shrike's little brother, stay on the wraparound porch out front talking before he gets up to walk Delph home. When Shrike sees this she smiles broadly and nudges me while jumping up and down on the balls of her feet. "Look, Krow! Look at them! Isn't that sweet?"

I'm not a total sap. Especially not after witnessing death the way I have. But seeing them slowly entwine their hands together as the two of them take off down the dim and foggy road, even someone like me has to admit that it _is_ sweet. Which throws me off guard.

Days ago I was in the Capitol seeing Rosie kill Xavier and then Xavier kill Rosie. Days ago I was sitting in the cafeteria with Opptunia, shooting back alcohol and then collapsing right there on the ground, later having some other mentors carry my back to my room. Now I'm home with my family and friends and everything seems terrifically right. Just perfect. Bonica is engaged, Delph and Jay are hitting it off, and my oldest child still has seven years before their first reaping. But, here it is, somebody else's kid doesn't. Next year another two children will be shipped to me, their last hope. But I won't be much of a hope. I never am. And nothing is ever perfect or right despite the illusion.

Frankly, I'm _still_ not sure how I managed to survive ten years ago. People were positive someone like Ariel or Alexander would win. Even my own family. But I did, and I'm here, and I wish that that's all that would matter but there's so much more. There's training my children, just in case. There's training _other_ children. Dealing with immense death. Making sure my family stays together. And of course planning soon-to-be-weddings.

The only good thing I've found is that I no longer struggle with money and food. Every single person I care about doesn't either, and that's almost the most important out of everything.

But as I stand there beside Shrike, looking out at the street filled with magnificent empty houses before me, I realize that there will always be bad things as long as there are districts and the Capitol. There will always be horrible bloodbaths and darkness to look at with a frown. And if there always will be all of that then there's no point in seeing the world as such a place; it only makes sense if we look at the good. Cheyenne's picture of Rosie and Xavier. Delph and Jay holding hands. Shrike's warmth close to my own.

I'll deal with death when it comes to me, not the other way around. Enjoying the moment, this moment, is worth more than all of the houses on Victor's Village—all right, so I suppose I'm a bit of a sap. Don't remind me anymore than I already know. But that's what having kids and a wife and a decent life in District Twelve out of all places can do to you.

So maybe nobody wins the Games. And maybe nobody wins when they're up against the Capitol.

But if you live it like one day there might be a chance that you can win and accomplish _something_, it makes every moment in between the tragic horrors and losses worth a little bit more.

**Kill List (in order of death)**

**Caitlin Gish (FD12) – Killed by Ariel Peffer (FD4)**

**Nicholas Parks (MD9) – Killed by Alexander Willis (MD4)**

**Robert Lark (MD8) – Killed by Trafford Ahava (MD2)**

**Liam Holloway (MD6) – Killed by Ariel Peffer (FD4)***

**Nikole Ratestrum (FD6) – Killed by Alexander Willis (MD4)***

**Keith Marble (MD1) – Killed by Alexander Willis (MD4)***

**Connor Foxx (MD3) – Killed by Cheyenne Wells (FD3)***

**Victoria Henson (FD10) – Killed by Ariel Peffer (FD4)**

**Bridger Henderson (MD7) – Killed by Alexander Willis (MD4)**

**Marina Ricketts (FD2) – Killed by Trafford Ahava (MD2)*******

**Ryli Smith (FD7) – Killed by Tiffany Mercades (FD1)**

**Tiffany Mercades (FD1) – Killed by Ryli Smith (FD7)***

**Zed Pyke (MD10) – Killed by Violet Crouse (FD11)**

**Trawny Heightson (MD11) – Killed by Violet Crouse (FD11)***

**Ebony Storm (FD5) – Killed by Trafford Ahava (MD2)**

**Trafford Ahava (MD2) – Killed by Odyss Fairmount (MD5)**

**Alexander Willis (MD4) – Killed by Ariel Peffer (FD4)**

**Ariel Peffer (FD4) – Killed by Violet Crouse (FD11)**

**Mara Davies (FD8) – Killed by Cheyenne Wells (FD3)***

**Bambi Schoonheid (FD9) – Killed by Violet Crouse (FD11)***

**Cheyenne Wells (FD3) – Killed by Violet Crouse (FD11)**

**Violet Crouse (FD11) – Killed by Krow Haliss (MD12)**

**Odyss Fairmount (MD5) – Killed by Krow Haliss (MD12)**

**Victor: Krow Haliss (MD12)**

_Note: _The kills with an asterisk beside them are kills by oblique means. As in, Trafford did not directly kill Marina, but if he hadn't cut open her arm then she wouldn't have bled to death. It's very inaccurate maybe, but I couldn't give credit to the Gamemakers, could I?

**A/N**** (please read): **Thank you to _every single one of you_ so much for reading this. I could say thank you billions and billions of times but it still would never amount to how I feel. It's cheesy, but if I was able to I'd truckloads of love out there.

I am so sad to see this story end, hence the following rant:

I'm sure that a lot of you have figured it out by now, but I'm going to write another one of these stupid and over-rated SYOC fanfics. I've already gotten a couple characters in, and before I post it I want to give my reviewers and fans of this fic a chance, if you want.

A couple of people asked me if they could submit characters for it and yes, you can. If you PM me with your character now it's extremely likely you'll get a spot, especially if you've followed this story. (But naturally, please no Mary Sues or Gary Stus.) Because, like I've said before, your guys' support in my writing means _everything_ to me.

Of course it's the 175th Quarter Quell and I'm adding a twist. I don't want to give it _all_ away, but I _will_ say that the Capitol people won't be the only ones getting alterations this year. Therefore if you send in a tribute now, you will have to send in more information later regarding the Quell.

_Anyways, _thank you, thank you, and thank you. You guys are the best thing since the sandwich. Legitimately.

**~Chocolatiee**


End file.
